Janelle Taylor

by Night Moves

  Now she would pay the price. The little boy’s cheeks were barely rosy, while every inch of Jordan that had been exposed to the hot Southern rays had been singed a light, painful pink.

  “Lift up your T-shirt in back,” he said, almost gruffly, all-business.

  She wanted to protest, but she didn’t, again conscious of Spencer’s presence. The little boy had gone back to his cars, grumbling about wanting a Happy Meal and clearly oblivious to the taut undercurrent between Jordan and Beau, just as he had seemed to be all day at the beach.

  Not that the day had been entirely fraught with tension. There had been moments of fun, when the three of them frolicked in the water or joined forces to build a sand castle.

  It was Spencer who came up with the idea of burying Beau in the sand, an enormously satisfying occupation for a preschooler. But he insisted on Jordan helping, and that was where she got into trouble.

  It was impossible to ignore Beau’s finely sculpted physique when she was crouched over it, letting warm sand trickle over his firm, tanned muscles. It was too easy to recall what it had felt like to lie against his naked skin, and to imagine what would have happened between them if the time and circumstances had been right.

  This was another of those moments, Jordan realized, as Beau’s hand made contact with her naked shoulder as she bent forward, the hem of her T-shirt gathered near her shoulder blades.

  She gasped, nearly leaping off the couch at his touch.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I warmed the lotion in my hands. Is it cold?”

  “Not too bad,” she managed.

  In truth, the lotion was warm … and her thoughts had darted into steamy territory.

  “I’ll try to be gentle,” Beau said.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  His fingertips swirled the moist lotion into her hot, thirsty skin, bringing instant relief from one problem and exposure to a far greater one.

  How could she be thinking about making love to him at a time like this?

  The truth was, it was far too easy for sensual thoughts to take over.

  Time and distance had brought her to a false sense of security. She could simply forget why they were here, could forget all about Spencer, and poor Phoebe, and the pirate.

  She could almost convince herself that this was nothing but a decadent beach vacation, and that later, when the sun went down and Spencer was asleep, they could pick up where they’d left off.

  He had fallen silent, she realized. And his movements had slowed, less clinical and efficient than before. She wanted to protest when he lifted his hand away, then heard him squeeze the bottle to drizzle lotion over his fingertips again. Thankful the massage wasn’t over, she closed her eyes and bent farther forward to give him access to the untouched region above her bra clasp.

  He obliged, resting one hand on her shoulder to hold her steady as the pads of his fingers on the other worked the rich, fragrant moisture into her parched flesh. He used circular movements, a heavenly swirling pattern reminiscent of her far more intimate encounter with his tongue.

  Fighting back a moan of pleasure, Jordan managed a half-strangled-sounding, “Thank you. That’s great. Thanks.”

  “Are you sure? Did I get every spot?”

  No. Not every spot.

  Jordan tried to ignore the part of her that tingled with electric reminiscence and wistful anticipation. She tried to turn her thoughts—and the conversation—to a safer brand of hunger.

  “I’m starved,” she said, struggling to attain lightness as she pulled down her T-shirt and rose from the couch. “How about you guys?”

  “I want a Happy Meal,” Spencer announced, as though sharing a late-breaking bulletin. He looked ominously capable of a tantrum.

  “Fine,” Jordan said, heading him off. “I’ll make you one.

  There was a moment of silence.

  “You’ll make me one?” Spencer echoed, looking at Beau, who looked at Jordan.

  “Yeah,” he said, setting the bottle of lotion on the coffee table. “You’ll make him one?”

  “If the mountain can’t go to MacDonald’s, MacDon-ald will come to the mountain. I mean, the beach. Whatever, “ Jordan said, brushing off their blank looks as though they were the ones who didn’t have a clue.

  She went on briskly, “I checked out the contents of the fridge and cupboards earlier. Beau did a great job stocking up on the basics. I think I can whip up a decent Happy Meal for all three of us.”

  Beau and Spencer exchanged a dubious glance.

  “Let’s see what she can do, fella,” Beau said with a shrug. “Give her a chance.”

  “Okay,” Spencer said reluctantly.

  Jordan started toward the kitchen, displaying a confidence she didn’t feel. Halfway there, she turned and called, “Beau? Can you come here for a second?”

  He did, ambling toward her wearing a good-natured now what? expression.

  When he was close enough, she leaned toward him and whispered, “What the heck is in a Happy Meal?”

  “Okay, Spencer, you can open your eyes!” Beau said, his hands on the little boy’s shoulders after having propelled him to the dining area.

  Spencer opened his eyes and gasped. “Wow! What’s that?”

  “It’s a Happy Meal,” Beau said, as the little boy picked up the white paper bakery bag. Beau had recycled it from the rolls he’d bought this morning and had decorated it using markers he’d found in a kitchen drawer. It looked almost like a bag that might hold a fast-food kid’s meal.

  “Thanks, Beau!” the little boy said, opening the bag and peering inside.

  “Thank Jordan,” he said, turning toward her. She stood a few steps away from them, looking hesitant to take the credit that was due her.

  “Thanks, Jordan,” Spencer mumbled, not looking at her.

  Beau saw the disappointment in her eyes before she turned away. His heart ached for her. She was doing everything within her power to win Spencer over, but the child still maintained a cautious distance from her—and a stubborn resentment. Yet with Beau, Spencer was affectionate and playful. That had to be painful for Jordan.

  As Jordan carried food for her and Beau over to the table, Spencer plopped into his seat and began removing the items she had packed into his bag.

  Along with a juice box, napkins, and real McDonald’s ketchup packets from the glove compartment of Beau’s car, there was a hamburger wrapped in waxed paper Beau had decorated to resemble an authentic fast-food wrapper, and homemade french fries in a small waxed-paper pocket he had made.

  “This looks great,” Beau said, lifting his own hamburger from the plate Jordan had set in front of him. “Thanks so much.”

  “You’re the one who bought the burgers and buns and potatoes,” she said. “All I did was cook them.”

  “You spent an hour cutting the potatoes into those thin strips before you fried them,” he said, mainly for Spencer’s benefit. “That was an incredible amount of work.”

  The little boy was oblivious, having just discovered the cellophane-wrapped “prize” Beau had tucked into the bottom of his bag. It was a miniature box kite he’d bought in the supermarket with Spencer in mind. He’d picked up quite a few small toys and trinkets for the child, thinking Spencer might grow bored here without a television.

  “Wow, thanks, Beau,” Spencer said, putting the kite aside and reaching for a ketchup packet. “Can we fly it later on the beach?”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Beau said. “It’s already dark out there.”

  He watched Jordan take a halfhearted bite of her own burger. Their eyes met as she chewed. He could see the worry etched in her gaze once again, and he knew what she was thinking.

  While she was cooking, the telephone had rung. It was Beau’s partner, Ed. He was trying to keep Landry at bay, but it looked as though Beau might have to head back to Washington tomorrow morning. Ed was going to call back in a little while to let Beau know for sure.

  “You know,” Beau said quietly, “it’s only a six-hour d
rive.”

  His meaning registered on her face. He saw her glance at Spencer, who was busily squirting more ketchup onto his fries from yet another red-and-white packet.

  “It took us longer than six hours yesterday,” Jordan said.

  “There was traffic, and we didn’t take the interstate. I would. I’d leave at dawn, take Ninety-five up away from the coast, get to D.C. by noon, have my meeting, and drive back. I’d be here before dark—okay, maybe later at night. Or in the middle of the night. The point is, I’d be back.”

  “That’s too much driving for one day.”

  “Not for me.”

  “It could be dangerous. You’d be exhausted.”

  “I’ll drink coffee,” he said simply. “Look, I might not even have to—”

  As though summoned by fate, the phone rang.

  Avoiding Jordan’s gaze, Beau put down his burger, walked over, and picked up the receiver.

  It was Ed, of course. Nobody else had this number.

  “I’m sorry, Beau,” his partner said. “I tried to get him to reschedule, but he wouldn’t. He demanded to see both of us, tomorrow afternoon.”

  Beau wanted to tell Ed to forget it. That he should tell Albert Landry to forget it. The billionaire CEO could find another architect, another firm …

  Torn, he looked toward the table. Jordan’s eyes collided with his. He was surprised at what he saw there.

  Go, she mouthed.

  And she really meant it. He could see it in her expression.

  “Hang on a second,” Beau said into the receiver before lowering it and pressing the mouthpiece against his shoulder.

  “We’ll be fine,” Jordan told him in a low voice. “Really.”

  “Are you—”

  “I’m sure. Go.”

  He shot her a grateful look, but renewed worry ignited within him. Yes, she and Spencer were isolated here. Nobody knew where they were. They would be safe until he got back. But…

  No. He couldn’t let paranoia get the best of him. They were safe here, and Ed needed him. If he didn’t meet with Landry, they could kiss the future of the firm good-bye.

  Beau lifted the receiver again and spoke into it, saying simply, “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  When Spencer was tucked safely into bed, Julia took another shower. She had taken one after the beach, but the cool, gentle spray felt good on her sunburned skin. Afterward, she realized that she’d better apply more lotion to her back and shoulders if she wanted to avoid peeling. She should have brought some of her own—or at least, should have kept the bottle Beau had loaned her earlier.

  Maybe he had left it on the coffee table, she thought, as she quickly combed her damp hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.

  All was quiet upstairs. He’d probably gone to bed early, in anticipation of tomorrow’s long drive.

  Instead of the short cotton nightgown she’d laid out on the bed, Jordan slipped on her terry-cloth robe, tying it quickly at her waist. It would conceal more of her just in case Beau was up and about, which she doubted.

  As she left her room in search of the aloe lotion, she wondered what it would be like here tomorrow, alone with Spencer.

  She knew this place was safe. She was certain nobody had followed them here. Theirs had been the lone pair of headlights crossing the long causeway onto the Outer Banks late last night.

  There was no reason for Beau to miss his important meeting. She and Spencer would be fine without him. Yet the thought of being here alone was unnerving.

  Today, playing with Spencer on the beach, had felt almost like a vacation.

  Yes, there was tension between Jordan and Beau; there was underlying fear and grief, too.

  But they couldn’t discuss the situation or their next move in front of Spencer.

  Nor could they take their eyes off him for even a minute to get away by themselves and figure out what they were going to do.

  So there were times when she could almost forget why they were here. Times when she could almost pretend that things were normal.

  Then reality would intrude and she would realize that she and Beau and Spencer didn’t belong together.

  This man and this child were strangers to her, to each other. Fate might have made them a temporary threesome, but it would soon send them on their separate ways.

  But what about Spencer? she found herself wondering. What would happen to him when she and Beau brought him forward to the authorities?

  Would he go to live with some family friends Jordan had never even heard of?

  Or, she wondered with a pang, with an uncle he had barely seen?

  Yet she supposed either of those scenarios made more sense than his staying with her.

  Even if she were capable of caring for an orphaned four-year-old boy, she knew that Phoebe and Reno must have left wills. She also knew that they couldn’t possibly have named her—a single, self-employed full-time businesswoman who lived in another city—as Spencer’s guardian.

  Even if she wanted to fight for custody, she knew she wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on. No judge would award the child to her under the circumstances. And if given a choice, Spencer certainly wouldn’t choose to be with Jordan.

  Who would he choose?

  Beau. He would choose Beau.

  What a ridiculous thought! Beau was more a stranger to Spencer than Jordan was. Yes, he had bonded with the child more than she had, but that didn’t mean he had any stake in Spencer’s future. When this was over, he would walk away.

  How will Spencer feel when that happens?

  Jordan couldn’t let herself think about that any more than she could let herself think about Spencer’s reaction when he found out about his parents’ death. She had to tell him—or leave it to the authorities to do. There must be social workers who were brought into situations like this—people who were experienced with children and loss.

  But they’ll be strangers, too, Jordan thought grimly.

  Spencer was surrounded by strangers.

  Funny, aside from repeatedly asking for his mother and the few passing references he’d made to his father, Spencer hadn’t even mentioned anybody else from his old life. She found herself wondering about the people who must surely have populated it.

  Then Jordan remembered that Phoebe had chosen to reach out to her when she realized danger was imminent. Not to someone who might be nearer, or closer. Phoebe had turned to someone she had barely seen in years. She had gone to the trouble of traveling all the way to Washington through stormy weather to deliver Spencer into Jordan’s hands.

  Had there been nobody else in her life that she could trust?

  Was there nobody else who would care enough about Spencer to keep him safe?

  Filled with renewed determination to honor the last promise she had made to her cherished friend, Jordan approached Spencer’s closed bedroom door. She opened it softly, tiptoed into the room, and leaned over the sleeping child. He looked innocent and vulnerable lying there in the night light’s glow.

  Jordan leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  She half-expected him to swat at her sleepily as he had before.

  But he didn’t.

  As she turned to walk away, she heard a soft sigh escape him.

  The hushed sound tugged at her heart.

  This child needed her desperately. For all she knew, she was all he had. And she wasn’t going to let him down.

  On the deck that opened off the living room, Beau sat on a teak lounge in the darkness overlooking the sea, listening to the waves pounding the shore. Tonight the sky was a murky canopy above him, with not a star in sight. The air was humid and warm, bordering on oppressive. It would probably rain tomorrow. Good. That meant Jordan and Spencer would stay inside while he was gone.

  It wasn’t that he thought there was any chance anyone would recognize the child on the beach. It was private, which meant that it was sparsely populated. Nobody on it today had come within a hundred yards of them, and even if they had, they c
ouldn’t have got a good look at Spencer. Beau had bought him one of those floppy sun hats while he was out shopping this morning. The low brim shielded most of his face.

  Still, Beau again contemplated telling Ed he just couldn’t come back to Washington right now, Landry be damned. But Ed would demand an explanation. He thought Beau was out here by himself. He wouldn’t understand how Beau could possibly put the firm’s future in jeopardy simply because of a vacation. He was already having a hard time understanding why Beau wouldn’t just catch a flight in from Norfolk to make the trip easier. He had even offered to charter a plane for him.

  “You know I don’t fly anymore, Ed,” Beau had said quietly.

  “I know, but Beau, you’re making things harder on yourself than they have to be. If you would just—”

  Beau had cut him off there with a curse and an order to stay out of his personal life. He’d regretted his harsh words right after he spoke them, but he couldn’t take them back.

  Ed had a wife and children. He had never been in Beau’s shoes. Nobody should ever be in Beau’s shoes.

  He clenched his jaw and rubbed his tired eyes, craving bourbon.

  If there were a bottle in the house, he would be filling a glass right now. He longed for the reprieve it would bring.

  Restless, too warm, he stripped off his T-shirt and draped it over the rail. That was better. It eased his discomfort from the heat, but not the hunger for something to numb the bitter taste of sorrow.

  There was a time when, struck by the craving for liquor, he would have gotten into the car, driven to the first liquor store he found, and indulged.

  But that was when the wound was still raw, the grief still all-encompassing. It had dulled over the years until it was mostly just a vague, throbbing ache tinged more with regret than agony.

  But the guilt was still there, tormenting him, begrudging him every breath he took. And tonight it was stronger than ever.

  Because there was another woman.

  Another child.

  They needed him, and he couldn’t be here to—