by Judith Yates
“Here.” He took a folded handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at her mouth. When he was finished, he planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Next time remember to ask your mom.”
Then Stephanie took his hand and led him into the house, talking nonstop about Holly’s new dress. “Jordan’s here,” she yelled as the screen door slammed behind them.
“Don’t scream, Stephanie,” Gracie chastised as she came down the stairs. “Your mother’s not quite ready yet.”
Stopping at the bottom of the steps, the older woman gave him a good looking-over. She circled around him twice, pausing each time to examine the front of his coat.
“Is something wrong, Gracie?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled a pair of eyeglasses from an apron pocket and continued her scrutiny. “That’s it,” she muttered finally. “Don’t you move. I’ll be right back.”
As Gracie dashed out the screen door, Jordan turned to Stephanie. “What was that about?”
The little girl looked at him, wide-eyed. “I don’t know, but you better not move.”
Gracie returned quickly with a fresh, crimson rose from one of the front-yard rosebushes. “Stephanie, run into the den and get the pincushion for me. Please, dear?”
The older woman trimmed the rose’s stern until Stephanie brought her the tomato-shaped pincushion. “This will fix everything,” Gracie claimed, taking an awkward step toward him.
Jordan didn’t know what to say as she pinned the rose on his lapel. The woman barely tolerated him—yet she had gone out of her way to present him with a boutonniere. It was surprising, to say the least.
“Ooh. That looks nice,” Stephanie piped in as Gracie smoothed out her handiwork.
Jordan glanced down at the weathered hands on his lapel. He touched them lightly. “Thank you, Gracie. It’s just the thing I needed.”
“It was nothing.” She backed away from him, taking the pincushion out of Stephanie’s curious hands. “But you just make sure Holly has a good time tonight. Okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
With a silent nod, Gracie started back up the stairs. “I’ll go see what’s keeping her.”
“Mommy’s new dress is so pretty.” Stephanie looked up at him with sweet brown eyes.
Jordan scooped her up in his arms. “As pretty as yours?”
“Prettier, you silly.” Giggling, she threw her chubby arms around his neck. Then her gaze flew to the stairs behind him. “See?”
He turned to find Holly standing at the top of the staircase in a gown the color of emeralds. “I see,” he whispered in Steph’s ear.
Smiling, Holly came down the steps. “You two look like you’re having fun.”
Steph wiggled out of his arms. “Oh, Mommy, you look so beautiful.”
Beautiful and dazzling. Jordan drank in every inch of her. Her golden hair was swept high off her neck, leaving an enticing expanse of honeyed skin. Shoulders, throat and soft, soft breasts flowed like smooth cream into her silky, strapless dress. He felt a stirring in his loins and his fingers itched to touch her.
“You look lovely, Holly,” he murmured, struggling with his body’s strong reaction.
“Glorious is more like it.” Beaming like a proud mother, Gracie followed Holly down the steps.
Sounding shy, Holly thanked them all for their praise. “We’d better go, Jordan,” she added, “before my head gets too big to fit through the door.”
As they walked across the driveway to his car, Holly stopped for one more reassuring glance at Stephanie and Gracie. They stood on the porch, smiling and waving.
“Having second thoughts about the dance?” He reached for her hand.
Holly shook her head. “I’m just not used to leaving them behind like this.”
Before Jordan could answer, Gracie called from across the yard. “Remember, I’m sleeping over. So stay out as late as you like.”
Jordan winked at Holly. “Sounds like they’ll be just fine. Now, how about you?”
Fingering his new.boutonniere, she met his gaze. “As long as I’m with such a dashing man, how can I be anything but fine?”
Ablaze with lights, the outside of the River House resembled an ornate, gilded jewel. Inside, the old mansion was alive with music, dance and laughter—as it had been in its heyday, Jordan suspected. And Holly, gorgeous in her stunning green gown, was the standout in a ballroom full of elegantly dressed women. Jordan couldn’t help the rush of pride he felt knowing she was with him.
Within minutes of their arrival, however, they met up with the Barrons and the Laceys. After admiring one another’s gowns, Nancy and Susan steered Holly toward the table reserved for their party. Holly peered over her shoulder, anxiously mouthing an apology to him. Astounded by the swiftness of her removal, Jordan realized Holly had been right. This event wasn’t like anything he’d been to before.
Phil Barron patted him on the back. “Might as well get used to it, Mason. This party is for the girls.”
“But look on the bright side. After a dance or two, we can head to the bar to watch the ball game,” Jaimie Lacey added with a laugh. “They won’t even miss us.”
Jordan gritted his teeth. Not on Your life, pals.
Following Holly through the crowd with his eyes, Jordan was treated to the vision of her bare, beautiful back. All he could think of was how it would feet—how Holly would feel—to hold and to touch. His muscles tightened with a sharp quickness. Male camaraderie was a fine thing, but that wasn’t why he’d come to this shindig. And he wasn’t about to allow Holly’s pals to monopolize her time. Not here, not tonight.
Throughout dinner and dessert, Jordan joined in the table talk, biding his time all the while. When the or chestra struck up again and the waiters with trays full of champagne began circulating through the ballroom, he grasped Holly’s hand beneath the table. He leaned in close. “We haven’t danced yet.”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand. The single diamond drops at her ears made her brown eyes sparkle.
Excusing themselves from the table, they began to wend their way toward the dance floor. Yet Holly seemed to have friends or acquaintances at every other table, and they all insisted she stop to say hello.
“Didn’t feel like you belonged, eh?” he cracked, tugging Holly along before another round of well-wishers could accost her.
Before they reached the dance floor, however, the town librarian tracked him down. “Mr. Mason, I’ve been searching all over for you,” Annabella Whitney proclaimed between sips from her champagne glass. “I just had to thank you in person for your donation to the children’s reading room. I’m writing you an official thank-you, of course. But your gift deserves more than a letter.”
Holly gaped at him. “You gave money to the library?”
“He did,” Annabella answered for him. “An extremely generous donation, I might add.”
“Extremely generous?” Holly repeated, her gaze fixed on him.
“Oh, yes.” Annabella drained her glass. “And now this town will. see what I can accomplish with some decent funding.”
“What was that all about?” Holly asked after Annabella left in search of more champagne.
“I’d rather dance first and explain later.” He led her toward the far end of dance floor, where it appeared less crowded.
It was not to be.
They ran smack-dab into Miss Karin and her escort, Jonathan Warren, the owner of the general store. “Oh. Holly and Jordan, you did come after all,” trilled the preschool director.
As Holly and Karin admired each other’s dresses, Jonathan clamped his large hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Hope you’re ready for next Saturday. It’s expected to be one of the better-attended town meetings.”
“That’s what I’ve been hearing.”
“Just wanted you to know, I’m on your side. A lot of people aren’t, mind you,” he remarked gruffly. “But we businesspeople have to stick together. I had one hell of a time getting a permit to enlarge t
he parking lot behind the store.”
“Good gracious, don’t let him get started on that parking lot.” Karin wedged herself between them. “Come on, Jonathan, you promised me another dance.”
Curling his arm around Holly’s waist, Jordan was about to follow them onto the dance floor. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he caught a glimpse of Nancy and Susan making their way heading toward the dance floor with husbands in tow. Although he really did like both couples, he wanted time alone with his lady.
“Come on.” Grabbing Holly’s hand, he turned away from the dance floor.
“Aren’t we going to dance?”
“You bet we are.”
Remembering the sweeping stone terraces from their last visit to the River House, Jordan headed for one of the large French doors lining the rear of the ballroom. On the way, he spotted a waiter popping the cork on a fresh bottle of champagne. Making a quick detour, Jordan pushed a crisp fifty-dollar bill into the waiter’s hand. “I’ll take that,” he said, lifting the bottle and two empty crystal flutes from the serving tray.
Holly was agog. “What on earth are you doing?”
He gave her the two glasses. “Follow me.”
Outside, the terraces were occupied by couples either talking or dancing or smooching. Seeking something more secluded, Jordan peered over the upper railing of the carved stone balustrade. There he discovered what he was looking for.
Taking Holly’s free hand, he led her down a curving staircase of wide stone steps, using moonlight and stars to guide them. “Here we are. And we can still hear the orchestra—sort of.” He put the champagne bottle down on a marble-topped patio table. “You know, this is just about perfect.”
“Perfect,” Holly echoed, as if she had to consider exactly what the word implied.
Jordan followed her gaze as she surveyed the lower, ground-level terrace—exactly the same as the ones above except for the faint-sounding music and lack of lights. Still, the natural lighting provided by the glimmering night sky and the precious privacy of the secluded location more than made up for those deficiencies. At least, he thought so.
Holly turned back to him. “Perhaps you’re right. It is perfect.”
“You sound like you can’t believe it.”
“What I really can’t believe is your romantic streak. I never suspected it of you, Jordan.”
At first, he didn’t know what to say. Her observation had rendered his trusted stock of wry comments useless. Yet he had to say something to the warm, coffee-colored eyes waiting for him.
“No one’s ever brought it out in me before.”
Her mouth softened into an alluring smile as she held out the two champagne flutes. “We should celebrate.”
The hushed sound of Holly’s words triggered an excitement inside him. His pulse raced as he stepped up to pour the wine. He whispered a toast to the rest of their evening. But after the chimelike clinking of glasses, instead of raising his glass to his lips, he lowered his mouth to hers. The wine could wait. All he wanted was to taste her.
Closing her eyes, Holly leaned into him. Her soft, tender kiss was like the warm breath of early summer as her eyelashes fluttered against his own closed lids. Jordan was sure he’d never felt a sensation like it before. There was so much he’d never felt until he found Holly here in Golden.
“Jordan,” she breathed, opening her eyes. “Aren’t you ever going to dance with me?”
Answering her with a smile, he put his untouched champagne down next to the bottle. Then he took the glass from her hand. “I’ve been waiting all night for this,” he murmured, sliding his hands along her waist and up around her luscious back. As he pulled her close, his fingers couldn’t resist tracing light, lazy circles on her velvety skin.
Fitting into his arms like a glove, Holly pressed her soft, lush curves against his chest. They began to move together in slow, rhythmic steps, sometimes to the music floating down on a breeze from the ballroom, sometimes to no music at all. They danced like this, drank champagne, talked, kissed, laughed and danced some more until the lights from the mansion flickered out.
Jordan sensed Holly’s reluctance to leave. He felt the same way. It had been a wonderful few hours—enchanting, really. She had been sweet, funny, sexy. Unfortunately, these charmed hours had left him hungry for more of her, far more than he knew she was able to give.
He didn’t want another evening to end with frustrated kisses at Holly’s porch steps. Not this time. As he drove back to Golden, it took all the fortitude Jordan could muster to keep from carrying her off to his house and to his bed. He wanted Holly badly—to make love to her, to feel her hot, lush body let go of the passion buried deep in her soul. He wanted to hear her cries and her moans. He wanted to show her how wonderful it could be between them and how good he could make her feel. But even more, he wanted to prove to Holly that he was different from the others, that he wouldn’t leave her hurting and alone.
He wanted so damn much and it was tearing him apart inside.
“You’ve become awfully quiet,” Holly observed as Jordan pulled up in front of her house.
“It must be the hour.” He nodded at the dashboard clock before getting out of the car.
As he walked her to the porch, she hummed one of the tunes they had danced to at the River House. With her arm hooked through his, she sounded giddy and light—clearly still under the influence of their magical party for two.
“Want to come in for some coffee?” She stood a few steps above him, her gaze even with his as she curled an arm behind his neck.
“Not tonight, Hol.” Although it would be tough to leave her now, this was not the invitation he wanted. Not with Stephanie and Gracie asleep inside.
Holly slipped her other arm around his shoulder, but the dreamy look on her face had vanished. “What’s wrong, Jordan?”
Every muscle in his body stiffened. He wanted her so much, yet was resenting her like hell right now. “I think you know,” he said, straining to sound calm while his mind and heart churned with the whiplike intensity of a whirlpool.
She didn’t answer. Still, the hesitant flicker of her eyes told him she knew exactly what he meant.
“I know you’ve been hurt before,” he continued, “and I’ve tried hard not to rush you, not to make demands. But patience has never been one of my strengths.”
“You’ve been wonderful, Jordan.”
Something inside him snapped. “I don’t want to be wonderful. I want to be your lover.”
Holly showed no surprise. Why would she? He’d been holding himself out to her, when all the while she’d been holding back. And not just physically. There was a part of herself that she kept from him, something in her heart or on her mind that she wouldn’t share. Or couldn’t. Either way, it was hurting them both.
“I can’t pretend I’m not afraid,” she said at last. “I’ve made mistakes before.”
“You’ve got to put those behind you, Holly, because they’re killing any chance we might have.” He cupped his hands around her arms, then slipped them off his shoulders. “Not only do I have to contend with Scott’s memory every time I’m with my father, but with you I have to pay for his mistakes.”
“Oh, God, Jordan, please don’t say that.”
Her stunned voice came out sounding like both a warning and a plea. She looked as if he’d slapped her.
“Then tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you’re over what Scott did to you. Tell me that what happened with Stephanie’s father doesn’t matter a damn where you and I are concerned.”
Closing his eyes for just a moment, Jordan willed her to say something—anything to show she wanted him enough to trust him. But when he opened them, Holly was shaking her head.
“I can’t tell you that.” A single tear escaped her glistening eyes. “Try to understand. Please.”
Her words cut like a knife. He couldn’t understand—not after the way things had been between them on that terrace.
All of a sudden, Jordan knew
he had to get out of there—before he did or said something he’d regret. “Looks like it’s time to take a step back.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“It’s what I need.” His knuckles brushed the tear from her cheek. “And I think you need some space, too.”
“There you go again, decreeing what’s best for everybody.” The tremble in her voice made this more of a lament than a charge. Another errant tear made him want to fold her in his arms.
Struggling against that urge, Jordan turned to leave. “What happens after tonight is all up to you, Holly.”
“And you’re just going to walk away?” she asked fiercely.
If she only knew how hard it was for him to leave her like this.
“I’m not going far,” he said with a calm he was far from feeling. “When you’re ready to get beyond the past, you’ll know where to find me.”
Chapter Eleven
Holly dragged herself into the shop Monday, still miserable over what had happened with Jordan and exhausted after two nights without sleep. The last thing she needed was to be out of coffee.
“Just great.” She slammed down the empty coffee can.
“Somebody got up on the wrong side of bed this morning.”
Holly spun around to find Nancy Barron standing at the back room door. “What are you doing here so early? And where are the boys?”
“I sent them to the office with Daddy.” Nancy tossed her handbag on a worktable. “I’ve been dying to talk to you. I must have called you a dozen times yesterday. All I got was the answering machine. Didn’t you play back your messages?”
“Not yesterday,” Holly said as she searched every cabinet and shelf in the workroom for anything containing caffeine—a stray tea bag, a packet of hot chocolate, even a forgotten jar of instant coffee.
“I figured you and Stephanie were off spending your Sunday with Jordan.”
Holly refused to rise to the bait. Yesterday was one thing she didn’t want to talk about. And Jordan was another.
“Ah, come on, Holly,” Nancy moaned. “Where did you and Jordan disappear to Saturday night? One minute you were heading for the dance floor, and then—poof—you were gone.”