Just Ask

by Mia Downing

  Jordan wasn’t so sure he knew how to ask. Not for this.

  Chapter Ten

  A week later…

  New York was definitely cold and hard. Unfriendly. No one yelled Bula as Jordan slid from his hired car, the only greeting a raspy, “fuck you” screamed by a homeless woman in deep conversation with a lamp post.

  The early evening air was cold and polluted, smelling of cab exhaust and garbage since the refuse workers were on strike—again. Jordan wrapped the collar of his coat tighter as he made his way across the icy sidewalk to his apartment building, careful to mind his step. At least, it was twenty degrees and not steamy and tropical, like the weather in Bendura. If the trash were there, it would stink to high heaven.

  For the zillionth time since he landed at JFK a week ago, his thoughts wandered back to Bendura, where people waited for him to make up his mind, to become the village asshole or the village hero. Ryan waited, too.

  In any case, Jordan couldn’t think long term. Any time he thought of the future, of selling or returning or just letting the island go on as it had since Blake’s death, his chest constricted and it became taxing to inhale, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear Blake’s voice in his ear, telling him to breathe, to take it all one step at a time. Rome wasn’t built in a day. He didn’t have to change his life that way, either.

  “Fucking nasty air,” Jordan mumbled. He couldn’t blame the fresh air, that was for sure.

  The doorman greeted Jordan with a nod and a smile, and Jordan resisted the urge to call out bula just to see the shock in the guy’s stoic eyes. “Ms. Melbourne will be visiting. Send her on up when she arrives, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The fact that a woman was coming up to his apartment was shocking enough, but the doorman hid it well. Samantha had never been to his apartment before. Ever. But it was high time.

  Jordan entered the elevator and keyed in the code to his apartment. He had a decision to make, and this one was big. He had to know if he’d been wrong about what he felt for Samantha, if he actually felt more and had ignored the signs. If not, then did everything he felt for Ryan stem from the fresh air, the challenges, and the grief of losing Blake? Or perhaps what he felt for Ryan was really the beginnings of something…deep.

  A half hour later, Jordan opened the door to Samantha’s knock. She breezed in, leaving behind a wake of floral freshness and womanly musk. No woman smelled or looked like Sam, all curves, gorgeous breasts, long legs that had wrapped just so around his hips during sex. But as he watched her sashay across his foyer into the living room, he realized he didn’t want her legs around him. That pull of desire was gone, the need absent. Imagine that.

  God damn, he missed Ryan. Well, physically he felt often in the past week because his dick woke him often with assorted erotic dreams concentric around Ryan. Dirty, wonderful dreams that left his cock aching even after spilling all over his hand. His attraction for Ryan was all Ryan, too, because he’d looked at other men, trying to see if someone else would spark desire. But staring at a man’s ass led to naughty thoughts of Ryan’s ass, which led to a hard-on the size of the Empire State Building.

  But mentally…yes, he missed Ryan that way, too.

  Samantha made him feel like he did when he was with Ryan—relaxed and himself. Already the tension was easing from his shoulders, he could breathe easier, and all she had done was walk in the door. He missed feeling that, along with the laughter and easy friendship he and Ryan started to build. Ryan was smart and funny, sharp enough to challenge him mentally.

  “Jordan,” she greeted, her tone warm as she hugged him, her cheek cold against his. “I’ve thought of you a lot these past weeks. You look like shit.”

  Leave it to Sam to cut to the chase. But that’s what he liked about her. She took control. He didn’t need to be anything more than Jordan, and if Ryan or Sam wanted to lead him, he’d let them. “Thanks, Sam. You look stunning, as usual.”

  She waved off the compliment and settled her coat over the back of a chair, her purse nestled on top of the camel folds. She was elegant in a simple navy dress that accentuated her curves while holding the power. “I should have demanded to teleconference you. I would have been on a plane much sooner.”

  “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t fine. He was fucked up. When she’d said she was coming home, he’d jumped at the chance to see her again, craving her because Ryan was a passing thing. But he craved being able to be himself, to give up the power for just a bit. Ryan was his male version of Samantha, but what he felt for Ryan was different. A part of Jordan wanted to jump and say it was love. But he didn’t do love.

  She frowned, her eyes inquisitive. “You’re stressed, and you look ill.”

  “You want to sit? Have a martini? How’s your mom?”

  “Mom is holding her own, and I don’t want a drink. I want to know what’s wrong with you. You’re scaring me.” Her blue eyes, so different than Ryan’s, lighter in color but more intense, searched his for answers. “Oh, God, you’re sick, too? Tell me what Blake had isn’t hereditary.”

  Jordan laughed, because obviously, he looked more like shit than he realized. “I’m not sick, I promise. There’s nothing wrong with me other than stress.” That wasn’t totally true.

  “Then tell me what’s wrong.” She settled on the sofa, expectant, ready to solve his problems.

  “You’re my friend, yes? I can trust you?” He settled on the sofa next to her, not understanding why he needed to ask. This was his Samantha. He’d known her since college. They had kinky sex with toys shoved up each other’s asses. But for some reason, he felt more vulnerable than he ever had.

  “Of course.” Her soft hand went to his jaw and cupped his face, her eyes just as soft. “Jordan, I love you. Not in the traditional sense with roses and rings. I don’t do that, and neither do you. But I do love you. You can tell me anything.”

  Her admission of love should have shocked him, but down deep, he knew this already. And why couldn’t she love him? He her? Why did it have to be defined in romantic terms? Hell, why did anything have to be defined? Why did he have to be crazy for feeling anything for Ryan, after knowing him for a weekend?

  Jordan drew in a deep breath and said, “I have a huge decision to make, and I’m not sure what to do. I need your help.”

  “Jesus.” Samantha stared, shocked. Without another word, she went to the kitchen, got a bottle of whiskey from the breakfast bar cabinet, and poured them each two fingers worth into glasses. She carried them back, the bottle under her arm. Composure regained, she sat again, stuffed his glass into his hand, and took a huge slug off hers.

  “What happened on that island, Jordan?” she demanded. “The last time I spoke to you, all was good. You were going to Fiji to settle things with Blake’s estate, and I’d see you in a few weeks. And now you’re asking me for help. You’ve never asked anyone’s advice on anything before. You’ve never asked for help from me, not even in choosing a tie. Not in the office, not in bed. Never.”

  Jordan sat back, shocked. There it was, right in front of him, his inability to ask for help, punching him in the gut. And he had thought Ryan was being an asshole about that. “Are you saying I’ve gone pathetic on you?”

  She shook her head, her eyes wide. “No, I’m saying you went to the island and became…human. But it’s making you sick, so stop.”

  Jordan had to laugh at that, because it was so opposite of what Ryan would have said. Ryan would tell him to relax more, plopped him down on a beach or in the hammock, or dragged him up Krakatoa Jr. to view the waterfall again, a thermos of kava in the saddlebags. And then Ryan would have made love to him.

  Shit.

  Jordan shook his head. “The decision is what’s making me sick, not becoming human, which I rather thought I was all along.”

  “My houseplant is more human.” Samantha sucked back more whiskey. “I always wondered why you were drawn to me, because I’ve been accused of being just as emotionless. Maybe th
at’s why we worked, the fucking without strings of attachment. Emotionless people don’t get attached.”

  Samantha actually had a depth of emotion that rivaled Ryan’s. She was just practical and refused to admit she wanted love as much as the next girl.

  Jordan stared at his glass. “You worked for me because you took control.”

  She blinked. “But I like that about you. I love that you let me take the control I need, when I need it.”

  “There we go.” Jordan sipped his drink, needing the liquid courage, wishing he could just slug from the bottle to get enough. But he didn’t need that much whiskey, not enough to get shitfaced. Just enough to tell her the truth. “I liked that you took the control from me now and then, so I could just…breathe. Be me. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes.” Sam shot him a cryptic look, rose, and got ice cubes for her drink. She offered some to Jordan from the fridge, but he shook his head. Then she returned, the set of her shoulders different. “Tell me about the island, so I get the entire picture.”

  Jordan drew in a deep breath and started in. He told her about everything but left Ryan out of it. He told her about the waterfall and Brownie. He explained how the villagers knew him so well from Blake’s words and how the hotel clients were really happy to pay all that money to stay at his resort. And he told her of his fear, how he didn’t understand why owning half an island scared him shitless, but it did, even here, thousands of miles away.

  Samantha’s arched brows furrowed as she stared at him. Her blue eyes widened and took a huge slug of whiskey. Huge. And then she asked, “So what’s her name?”

  “Who?”

  “You are an ass. You don’t want the island because this woman you refuse to tell me about is also your partner and has you wrapped around her finger. You are smitten, my friend. A smitten fool, and I thought I’d never see the day.”

  “Smitten? Fuck.”

  Samantha nodded, warming to the tirade. “That’s why this is so hard. You sell, you lose the girl. You keep it, you could still lose the girl. It’s a no-win situation, and you don’t do well with those odds.”

  Was that true? If he kept the island for all the right reasons, it wasn’t a given that Ryan came with it all, despite Ryan’s vow that he’d be there. If he sold it, he’d definitely lose Ryan. Owning the island had rattled him before his vacation, but now the idea terrified him.

  He didn’t want a home where he was all alone. Not anymore. “You’re saying…I want the whole thing?”

  “The island and the girl. Yes.”

  It sounded so simple when she said it that way. “Isn’t it too soon to know I want the whole thing?”

  “Jordan, you know immediately if you want to buy a company or not. You don’t need six months to make the decision. Most people, sure. But you? A weekend is plenty of time. You probably knew the first night before you fucked her.”

  He blinked, knowing the exact moment he’d realized he was home—when he ran down Ryan’s beach. Fuck, Sam was psychic. “Maybe I did.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Oh, shit. The time of reckoning. “His name is Ryan.”

  He probably should have waited for her to swallow before he said that, because she spewed whiskey all over his coffee table. She coughed and choked, and he ran for paper towels from the kitchen, feeling like such an asshole for dropping a bomb on her like that with no warning.

  “Ryan,” she rasped a moment later, her voice hoarse.

  “I didn’t offend you, did I?” She choked again, her blue eyes tearing, and he winced. “I don’t understand it, either, if it helps. I was fairly sure I was straight. This has nothing to do with you.”

  She waved a hand, catching her breath as she stared at him for a long, long time. “I don’t think you’re gay or bi or whatever. I think you found what you were missing to make you human.”

  Only Samantha could explain it all without using the word love. “And what if I’m not what it takes for him to be human?”

  “Then you find another piece that fits, just like you would find a company to meet the needs of a different aspect in your portfolio.” She shifted in her seat, again all business and efficiency though her eyes looked a little watery still. “There are seven billion people on this planet. There are many, many someones out there, waiting to help you be human.”

  “I’m sorry it wasn’t you.” He was, on so many levels. Loving Samantha would be much easier than loving Ryan.

  “Don’t be,” she scoffed. “We’re friends first, and though the sex was wonderful, you don’t make me any more human than I made you.”

  That hurt a little, but he deserved it. “What about you, Sam? What do you need to be human?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed and looked tense. “My mom isn’t doing well, and I’m regretting this move to Germany. I can’t move her there, and I can’t seem to get here enough. I love my job, but I’m not focused here or there. I need to somehow come back to the States.”

  Jordan nodded. Samantha’s mother had Alzheimer’s, and balancing work and her mother’s needs were an issue. Thank goodness, she made enough to afford the level of care needed to manage her mother’s illness. He’d offered assistance many times, whatever she needed, but Sam was a smart, rich, independent cookie.

  Jordan brushed a lock of blonde hair from Sam’s worried face, his hand lingering on her cheek. “Come here,” he whispered.

  She slid over and into his arms, her cheek against his chest. So different to hold her than to hold Ryan. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

  “No, of course not. I’m a little jealous. Maybe a little hurt that your special someone is a guy. But my self-esteem is strong, and you can’t choose who you love. I know you, too. You didn’t want to be in love in the first place.”

  “Yeah.” He kissed her temple, and she settled into him, her soft body comforting. “I did not go to an island to find love.”

  They sat together for a long moment, Jordan rubbing her back, wishing the sparks that used to fly would return and ignite. Then his definition of home would be something he knew, not some wild, crazy version of foreign.

  “So,” she whispered, sounding so small, nothing like the fierce lioness she reminded him of usually, strong and brave, ready to make the kill. ‘What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s bullshit, Jordan. You do know.”

  Jordan winced. The lioness had returned. “How can you say that?”

  “Because I know you, the business side of you, anyway. You do know.”

  He knew. For her to be so cock-sure, so steadfast in her belief in him and his decision-making skills made him…wary. But maybe a little relieved, too. “What if what I want is crazy as all fuck?”

  Samantha laughed—fucking laughed—like a possessed hyena, with not one shred of gentle femininity. She snorted and wiped her eyes after a moment. “You think you’re sane. You, Jordan Hill. Sane.”

  “Well, yeah.” Wasn’t he?

  “Oh, Jordan.” She sighed, her smile a touch sad. “Buying Tremacorp wasn’t crazy? Or that deal you did last year with the Chinese? That wasn’t fucked up?”

  “No?” Okay, maybe to someone with no money, it was fucking crazy to buy two broken, bleeding out companies valued at way too much on gut feeling alone to turn them around into multi-billion dollar deals. But it didn’t seem so crazy to him. It was his world, his pool, and he knew where he could leap big and where to stick to the shallow end. “Okay, maybe.”

  “Definitely.” She shook her head. “That’s why you’re richer than Midas, because you are fucking insane and no one knows where the hell your enlightenment comes from, but they all want a piece of that.”

  “I’m not that crazy.”

  “You are that crazy, Jordan, but in the best way, and I love you for that. You are one crazy, impulsive man in the business world.” She smiled, the love in her eyes evident now that Jordan let himself see. Love that was so different than what he’d se
en in Ryan’s eyes that last time. “You’re just really careful when it comes to living. Way too careful.”

  Maybe he was too careful. Maybe it was time to jump into the deep end of the living pool, off the rocks like Ryan had done, first time out. He looked down at Sam and decided to see if crazy could float. “How much notice do you have to give your job?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “How would you like to come back to New York and be me?”

  She sucked in a breath, the wheels in her mind turning furiously. “I can’t ditch my job in Germany for a one week thing.”

  “I’m serious.” He needed this. But he couldn’t just stop his life as he knew it and leave. It was way too radical for him and made him sweat bullets. But if he eased out of his life, made a transition, had an exit plan, maybe it would work and not make him panic. “Would you do it if no matter what, you could keep the job? So if it the island life doesn’t work out, you could still work with me.”

  Her berry lips pursed with dismay. “You want to work with me? We’ve discussed this before and decided we’d kill each other.”

  Yes, they would kill each other, probably in a raging bloody battle, too. That was probably another reason why a relationship more than casual sex and friendship hadn’t worked for them. They were too much alike in a lot of ways. But Jordan trusted Sam to make the right decisions because they were alike. It was high time he started doling out the projects, handing over the responsibilities. It would reduce his stress level immensely.

  “I’m serious, Sam. I’ll make it work, and if it doesn’t, I can work from a different location. Tokyo, maybe.”

  He loved Tokyo a lot more than he liked Manhattan. Hell, why not? If he could move to Fiji, then he could easily move to Tokyo. And if he didn’t like it, he could move. He had enough money. He could live in a tree house in Kenya with giraffes as pets if he wanted to.

  “You sure?” she asked, hope creeping into her voice.

  “No matter what happens, I need a change.” Jordan nodded, very sure. “Tokyo should give you enough distance to be the office lioness.”