by Lauren Dane
Still, this sounded insane. “Oh, come on. An agreement?”
Elle reached for the bottle and refilled Jordan’s glass. “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.”
“That’s a level of control bordering on crazy. Like, I want to call him a therapist right now.” Well, maybe take a second to strip him out of that suit jacket first, just to see what he hid under there, but then straight to a therapist. Jordan was comfortable with that order. She wasn’t as happy about how every crumb she collected about Forest intrigued her more, even this bit of weirdness.
Elle shrugged. “The rich do strange things.”
“Testify, but what woman would sign an agreement for a dinner date? Is he that special?”
Elle smiled behind her glass as she rubbed the rim over her lips. “Well, are you still wearing your panties or not?”
Jordan intended to keep them in place whenever Forest was around, but... “Good point.”
“Word is he’s dark and mysterious. Maybe a woman is willing to do some out-there things to climb between the sheets with him.”
Jordan decided her dear friend had a point. “But hire a lawyer to review a legal document?”
“I guess he likes full command over mattress time.”
Forest. Bed. Naked. Shoulders.
Interesting. “Now you’re just trying to make my head to explode.”
Elle held up her free hand. “Hey, just passing it on. I heard he likes to be in charge in the bedroom.”
“From?”
Elle’s glanced drifted toward the television. The same one that was turned off and had been ever since Jordan got home. “Just here and there.”
Ignoring her vow to forget about Forest almost as soon as she made it, Jordan set her glass down in the coffee table with a clink. “Let me get this straight. We run an anonymous website with hundreds of members, and our sole job is to collect and verify information on the eligible and not-so-eligible but possibly cheating males in the city, and somehow you have information on Forest Redder but no verification to put it on the site.”
“What do you want me to do? No one is willing to write a status report or file a request for information on him.”
And that was the key. “Yet. But they will. We’ll get him.”
Jordan regretted the phrase as soon as she said it. Probably had something to do with the way the light in Elle’s eyes flared. Or the knowing smirk.
“Are you saying you want more information, maybe for a personal connection?” Suddenly Elle seemed to have no trouble giving her boss-slash-friend full-on eye contact.
“He’s not my type.” Not totally true, but Jordan hoped it would fly.
“Hot and sexy with bedroom skills to make a grown woman moan and beg for more is not your type?”
So, no flying. “I started the site because I wasn’t exactly finding that type of guy.”
“Burke Landow is an ass.”
Her most recent ex. Now, there was a subject guaranteed to suck the sexiness out of any conversation. It also had Jordan reaching for her glass again. “Oh, hell yeah. Agreed.”
“Most men don’t lie about being engaged. He’s not the only type of guy out there.”
Jordan shot Elle her best are-you-kidding-me frown. “I’m wondering if you’ve read over the Need to Know site lately.”
“It’s one of my favorite ways to spend an evening.”
“What about that professor? He had solid reports on the site for charm, but no word on sex. Can you fill in the blanks?” The lack of information on something so vital, the fact no member had made it past a few dinners with the guy, raised Jordan’s antenna. But Elle thought he was cute...never mind that’s how the truly weird ones lured you in.
“Yeah, there was nothing on sex.”
“You made it to date three, right? I would think that means you have better things to do at night than read.” When Elle had gone out on the first date, Jordan had felt a tiny kick of jealousy. She wanted to be attracted to the scholarly buttoned-up type, but she had the misfortune of loving a bad-boy streak.
Now, combine buttoned-up and naughty, and her control went on the fritz. She didn’t know how any sane woman walked by that type without giving a second look.
Of course, the seeds for her feelings on men were not a secret. She hadn’t spent time in therapy, but she knew. Not that she couldn’t use an expert now and then, but she feared after a few hours of talking about her upbringing she’d need a lifetime pass.
Her mother liked men. Liked men the way little kids liked cookies. To say mom overindulged would be an understatement. The way Jordan figured it, her front seat to her mom’s dating life should have made her prim or promiscuous. It was a miracle she didn’t head for either extreme.
“There will not be a fourth date with the professor.” Elle kept her head down and her focus on the stem of her wineglass.
No eye contact, cryptic—not good signs, so Jordan poked around a little. “Why?”
Elle smacked her lips together and made a strange sucking sound. “Shaved.”
Between the noise and the word Jordan decided she missed a sentence. Maybe more than one. “Excuse me?”
“He doesn’t have any body hair.”
“You’re saying—”
“None. I thought he didn’t have hair on his legs because he was a runner, like it was some athlete thing. But, nowhere.”
The visual image that flashed through Jordan made her a little dizzy in a forget-about-eating kind of way. Also made her wish for a temporary case of blindness. “Wait, you mean, not anywhere on his body? Like, really none.”
“Yep.”
And—boom—there was the weirdness thing.
But for some reason Jordan couldn’t let it go. “Legs, arms and—”
“Nothing around his dick, either.” Elle started nodding and didn’t stop. “He shaved or waxed his private parts. Head-to-toe smooth like a baby. Try to imagine that.”
Jordan doubted she’d be able to stop thinking about it. “So, he basically looked like a Ken doll?”
“With a tiny dick. Exactly.”
Figures. “How tiny?”
“I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
Jordan understood that. She had a line of forgettable dates behind her, but at least they all had the normal amount of body hair. She never dreamed she’d have to worry about that. Now she would. “Well, congratulations. He tops the guy I dated who stole my underwear.”
“Since that guy took your bikini bottoms only and a pair at a time, then stored them in a baggie in his freezer, no you still win the Creepy Dude prize.”
Jordan had blocked the freezer part. Huh, it all came rushing back now. “He was one giant nut bag.”
“One of many.”
“You do realize the last three guys I dated can be described as the guy-who-only-talked-about-his-dog, the guy-who-stole-my-underwear and the guy-who-lied-about-being-single.” And how depressing was that list of potential mates? “Maybe I should spend a little more time reading the site before I say yes to a date.”
“Or maybe a few nights with someone like Forest ‘Hot Between The Sheets’ Redder is the answer to your troubles.”
No way was Jordan diving into that conversation. She decided to start a new one and hope Elle somehow uncharacteristically came along. “So, did you get all the new status-report information entered?”
“Are we done with this topic?”
“I’m not sure how we even started it.”
Elle nodded in the direction of Jordan’s lap. “Did your mom text today?”
Jordan scooped up her cell and entered the unlock code. The thing had buzzed three times during the commute home. Jordan tensed as she read the most recent text. The stiffness eased out of her shoulders when she
realized this one was G-rated. “She’s going dancing and will text tomorrow with a report.”
“Lucky you.”
Not that Jordan had a choice but to hear the after-date tale. Her mom texted every day and overshared. This week the topic was a guy named Lin. He’d taken her to the Bahamas to relax, though why her mom needed rest was a mystery. She didn’t work, unless you counted hunting down new men to marry as a job, which her mom did.
Elle gripped the armrest now. “Back up a second.”
“I don’t want to think about the Ken doll, or my mom, or my mom with a Ken doll.” The last one made Jordan want to discontinue her phone service.
“Forest. You’re saying you’re never going to see him again?”
“Not unless I get a temp job in his office or otherwise need to confirm a report, which sounds like—with all his rules—can only happen with the approval of the Supreme Court.”
“Think of working with him as an opportunity for desk sex.” Elle smiled as she said it.
Jordan knew she’d have that on her brain all night now. “Back to work.”
“Did you bring me dinner?”
Finally, a safe topic. No men, no mom, no underwear and no hair. “Already ordered. After all, we’re celebrating.”
“What?”
That one was easy. “Me never having to work for, let alone think about, Ryan Peterson again.”
Chapter Three
Subject Request for Nick Asher: Rumor is he likes to get drunk and pick up bridesmaids, even if he’s not invited to a wedding. Anyone have any information? —Member 339
Need to Know admin staff: Pending.
EARLY SATURDAY EVENING Jordan stood at the open bar and drank a silent toast to the bride, the newly minted Elizabeth Savory-West. Jordan could almost picture the personalized stationery. It would probably be in the same bright pink as the bridesmaids’ dresses.
Jordan had a harder time figuring out the bride, since Jordan had never actually met her. She stood now and watched Elizabeth swish around in her fluffy white dress, surrounded by tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of pink and white roses and her thirteen bridesmaids. Because that was a rational number. Jordan could barely come up with thirteen people she’d want at her wedding, never mind acting as bridesmaids.
She scanned the Highwater Observatory, the fancy room housing the reception. It was one of three ballrooms at the tony hotel on the edge of Georgetown. Jordan had to fight the urge to grab her phone and figure out how much the room rental cost. Something with skylights and “observatory” in its name couldn’t be cheap. Add in the paneled mahogany ceiling, glitzy chandeliers and rich golden fabrics and you had a very expensive few hours of dancing and cake.
She didn’t know one person in the room. That’s what happened when you crashed a wedding to scope out a groomsman. Word was Nick Asher enjoyed sleeping with bridesmaids—any bridesmaid—and sometimes skulked around weddings looking for sex partners. Sex, as in having it, then sneaking out before the hotel-room bill was paid.
He was a real classy guy, this Nick. Just went to show money couldn’t buy manners.
Right now she watched him move, circling a petite brunette and following her as she walked out the towering doors to the terrace. Jordan guessed it was time she got some fresh air, as well. She pivoted around one of the fancy columns at one end of the room and came eye-to-mouth with a guy.
At least it was a hot mouth, and the rest of the face...well, damn.
“How do you know Bitsy?” Forest stood there, dressed like James Bond, all sleek in a tux that fit him as if some dude stripped Forest naked and measured him for it.
Jordan felt all the blood leave her head. It had to be a reaction to the impressive outfit. No way was she responding to him. “What?”
“Bitsy.”
Clearly the rushing sound in her ears drowned out part of the conversation. “Is that a person or a thing?”
“She’s the bride.”
Jordan decided this would teach her not to do more investigation on the bride and groom before crashing a wedding. She’d gotten a tip about Nick being a groomsman and showed up without any planning. It was a hotel, after all. Not exactly a security-protected event.
But none of that solved the six-foot-something problem in front of her. Damn, she couldn’t see anything past Forest’s broad shoulders. That couldn’t be normal.
She waved her hand and gave a chuckle. “Oh, sure. Bitsy.”
He shifted as he folded his arms over his chest. “No one calls her that.”
Shifty bastard. “Why did you?”
“To see if you knew her or were even invited to this event.”
“What makes you think I’m not supposed to be here?” Other than that being the truth, of course.
“You’re not talking to anyone.”
Jordan snorted before she could stop it. “So?”
He put his palm against the column behind her head and leaned in. “You were hiding behind the post and ducked when the bride walked by. You’re not giving anyone eye contact and I haven’t seen you talk or eat or even sit down, probably because you don’t have an assigned seat.”
“Yeah, that’s not creepy or anything.”
“What?”
“Your stalking problem.”
The corner of his mouth lifted but just as quickly flatlined again. “You’re not exactly engaged in normal wedding-guest behavior.”
“Clearly you don’t go to many weddings.” Jordan had been to seven for her mother alone, so she considered herself a bit of an expert. And, really, hiding was the only way to get through them.
He held out his hand. “Okay, let’s see your seat-placement card.”
He sounded ridiculous saying that, but she bit back a laugh, mostly because of the ball of anxiety racing up her throat to choke her. “Were you invited?”
A young girl barreled by them and knocked into Jordan. The girl was off with a muttered apology. Jordan’s balance took a bit longer to settle out.
With quick reflexes, Forest reached for her arm and pulled her closer to his side even as the fingers stayed wrapped around her elbow. “Elizabeth’s father works in my accounting department.”
“Well, of course he does.” All of these rich, powerful folks knew each other. It was some weird exclusive club where admittance required stacks of cash.
Jordan decided right then she was the unluckiest person alive. First she buys a condo and gets laid off from the law firm the next week. Now, this. Him.
Her cell buzzed in her purse, reminding her of the one other problem she dealt with on a daily basis. Her mother and her active social life. The same mother who had just been dumped in the Bahamas by a guy named Lin after he found her searching through his wallet.
Mom thought he overreacted, because she was only checking his identification. But she did snag two twenties from the guy’s wallet “to teach him a lesson” or something like that. Now she was in the resort lobby, trying to find a new “friend” or she’d need airfare to get back home.
Jordan dreaded the call and the possibility of having to send more money, but when her mom called, Jordan answered. Not having a dad, her mom was all she had.
Keeping the stalling to a minimum, Jordan held up a finger and opened her small bag. She grabbed the phone and scanned the lines of text. Looked like Mom landed on her feet. Again.
Forest glanced at the cell. “Everything okay?”
“My mother.”
He frowned. “Is she in trouble?”
The explanation would take hours and Jordan would need many glasses of wine to get through it, so she went for a shortcut. “She’s on a date with a man named Felix.”
“Is that good?”
That should be a simple question, but almost nothing was simple when i
t came to Gloria Winchester. “For Felix?”
Forest’s frown deepened. “What?”
“We’ll have to see what Felix thinks a week from now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Not important.” Jordan dropped the phone inside and snapped the purse shut again. “You were telling me how you know everyone in town. Please continue.”
“Speaking of mothers.” He nodded at an older woman across the room standing next to the wedding cake. She wore a sleek gray dress and had her hair swept in an updo.
Jordan had no clue who she was, either. “Were we?”
“We can go say hello to the mother of the bride,” he said.
The music played and people danced. A few others roamed around the tables and gathered by the uncut cake. Jordan blocked it all in an attempt to sound as if she belonged here. “I’ve never met her parents.”
With a hand still on Jordan’s upper arm, Forrest swung around and pointed to the bride as she smoothed her hand over her bump of a stomach again and again. “To Elizabeth then.”
If Jordan’s suspicions were correct, the potentially pregnant Elizabeth. “She’s busy.”
His fingers clenched against her arm. Not tight and not threatening. To others he probably looked loving. To Jordan it sent a clear do-not-move signal.
He stood close enough for his breath to brush across her cheek. “I will wait here and run through every member of the wedding party until you admit you crashed this event.”
The closeness. His scent. It all combined to suck air out of her lungs. She had no idea what that was about. Sure, on the surface the guy looked good. Probably even had the normal amount of body hair. She could admit to him being objectively non-ugly, but she knew better than to think his looks provided any insight into the rest of him. Personal experience had taught her all about his type and that should kill any appeal.
Should.
“I was next door and came over to see the room. A friend is thinking of having a wedding here,” she said, reaching for another lie.