JORDAN

by Lori Foster

  "He doesn't know you," she said. "And you looked—" She peeked up at him, a slight frown marring her brown. "Well, you looked furious."

  "I was furious." His voice dropped to a whisper, making her eyes, shadowed and cautious, widen on his face. "I thought someone was going to hurt you." Her lips parted.

  Outside the car, one man struggling against being arrested fetched up against the door closest to the woman. She jumped, letting out a startled gasp. Without even thinking about it, Jordan clasped her shoulder, offering comfort and reassurance. Her soft skin tempted him and it was all he could do to keep the touch impersonal, to keep from caressing her. But she also felt cool against the warmth of his hand, making him frown.

  A lot of activity was going on around them, though he hadn't been aware of it moments before. Above the din of complaints and drunken shouts, Jordan heard the sheriff arguing that he'd been called one time too many to the bar, and now he was forced to actually do something, just so he could get some peace.

  Apparently that something was a series of arrests, and it didn't matter that Jordan hadn't been drinking, that he hadn't started the fight, and that he'd had nothing to do with the other numerous times the disgruntled sheriff had been summoned.

  "Nice place you work at." Jordan continued to smooth his fingers over her skin, unable to force himself to move away from her.

  "It pays the bills," was her straightforward reply, then she suddenly seemed to realize his touch and turned to glare at him.

  Jordan again held up the coat. "Do you really want my brother to see you looking like that?"

  "Your brother?"

  "The Buckhorn sheriff. If I know Morgan, he's liable to be here any minute. I'm sure I'll get the brunt of his anger, but believe me, there'll be a heady dose for you, too, since he'd had his evening all planned and it didn't include a jaunt out into the rainy night. Wouldn't you rather be wearing a little more armor than lace and fringe?"

  Her hands knotted together in her lap. "Do you think he'll keep us for the night?"

  She looked so fragile and delicate, so damn young, Jordan had a hard time reconciling the confident, aloof vamp she'd been on the stage with the concerned, shivering woman she was now. She simply didn't strike him as a person hardened to life, a woman brazen enough to be comfortable with her earlier display.

  It was Jordan's turn to shrug. "Who knows? He has no tolerance for ignorance, regardless of the fact we're related. But then again, he's very fair and you and I weren't to blame for what happened in there."

  Her glare said differently. Jordan smiled. "Okay, so you think I was to blame. Is that any reason to sit there freezing?" He traced the line of her throat with one fingertip. "Your skin is like ice."

  A slight shudder ran through her and her eyes closed. Jordan stared, feeling what she felt, the connection, the instantaneous sexual charge. Like a touch of lightning, it sizzled along his every nerve ending, making him so acutely aware of her he hurt. He'd never known anything like it and he had no idea how to deal with it. He wanted, quite frankly, to pull her down into the seat and strip off her costume and cover her with his body. He wanted to warm her with his heat. He wanted to take her, right now, right here, to brand her with his touch.

  There were no gentle words of admiration in his mind, no thoughts of cautious seduction. He felt savage, and it shook him.

  After a shuddering breath, she moved away from his caressing fingers and accepted his coat. He helped her to slip it on, watching her contortions in the limited space of the back seat, seeing the thrust of her breasts as she slipped first one arm though, then the other. She lifted slightly to settle it behind her, and Jordan petted the material down her narrow back, all the way to the base of her spine. She felt supple and firm and he relished the sound of her quickened breath.

  He smiled at how the sleeves completely hid her hands, curiously satisfied at seeing her in his coat and feeling somewhat barbaric because of it. She trembled so badly she couldn't quite manage the buttons. Jordan brushed her small, chilled hands away and did them up for her. In a voice affected by being so close to her, he whispered, "Better?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  Her voice, too, sounded huskier than usual, proving to Jordan that he wasn't sinking alone. No. Whatever strange affliction he felt, she felt it, too.

  The urge to touch her again was strong, and he gave into it, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. Her hair was as soft as her skin, baby fine, intriguing. It was cut into various-length curls that moved and bounced when she turned her head. Along her nape, the hair had pulled into adorable little ringlets. He lifted those small curls out of the collar of his coat. "I'm Jordan Sommerville," he said, and heard the increasing rush of her breath.

  Staring down at her hands, she replied, "Georgia Barnes."

  "Georgia? As in a Georgia peach?"

  "Don't start." Then she blinked and looked up at him. "Sommerville? I thought you said Sheriff Hudson was your brother?"

  "Half brother," Jordan explained. He felt the old bitterness rise up, nearly choking him.

  Her head tilted in a curious way. "The sheriff is your younger brother?"

  "No. Morgan is the second oldest, right behind Sawyer." Jordan didn't feel like explaining. If he was in Buckhorn, he wouldn't have to, because everyone there knew everyone else's business. In fact, he decided she must either be very new to the area or very isolated, not to have already heard the stories herself. There was no disapproval in her tone when she asked, "Your mother has been married twice?"

  Jordan sighed, seeing no hope for it. At least Georgia – what a name, probably just used as a stage name – was talking to him. "My mother's first husband died in the service after giving her two sons, Sawyer and Morgan. She married my father, but not for long because he became a miserable drunk shortly after the wedding."

  He saw her eyes glittering in surprise, saw her soft mouth open. Jordan cupped her chin and touched her bottom lip with his thumb, hungry for the taste of her, as unlikely as that seemed. He barely knew her, and for the most part he didn't like what he did know, but he felt as though he'd wanted her forever.

  Without meaning to, without even wanting to reveal so much, he added, "By all accounts, my father was the type of man who would have loved this bar – as well as that little show of yours." Slowly, he looked her over in his too large coat, her honey-brown hair wispy and curled with perspiration and rain, her flamboyant makeup smudged.

  Her slender bare thigh rested only a few inches beside his, taunting him with its nearness. His hand was large enough that he could cover the entire front of her thigh with his splayed fingers. He could caress her skin, parting her legs as he inched higher and higher until he cupped her, felt her heat, her softness. The material of her bodysuit would offer no obstruction at all. He could...

  He muttered a low curse. With the drizzling rain outside sealing them in, her musky scent seemed to permeate his brain. It filled him with lust so strong he felt it in his heartbeat, tasted it on his tongue. He'd never been thrown so off balance in his entire life.

  "My father," Jordan said in a raw voice, "would have been right up there with the others, sweetheart, throwing money on the stage, urging you on, and doing his damndest to buy your favors. But seeing you tonight..." He hesitated and his hand opened on the back of her head as he thrust his fingers through her silky hair, urging her closer, watching her pupils expand wildly. "...I can almost forgive him for that."

  Jordan's words trailed off into a whisper as her eyes slowly closed, her lips parting on a hungry breath. Her invitation was clear, and he leaned toward her, already growing hard in anticipation of taking her mouth. He couldn't believe this was happening, and he couldn't stop it.

  She gave a soft moan as he kissed the very corner of her lips, and another when he tilted his head and brushed his mouth over hers. Her lips parted on the third moan and Jordan took her, his tongue immediately sinking deep, his mind shutting down on everything except the hot taste of her, the wild, savage wa
y she made him feel.

  A loud rapping on the window jarred him out of his lust-fogged stupor.

  Georgia jumped back, gasping, one hand at her throat as her face drained of color. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know she was mortified, that she'd been as carried away as Jordan. He leaned past her to see his largest brother scowling through the window. Morgan's hair was plastered to his skull, his face was unshaven and he wore a plain T-shirt and jeans, testimony to the fact that he'd been at home, not on call. He must have driven at top speed, Jordan realized, to have gotten to the bar so quickly.

  Morgan's requisite bad-ass look was firmly in place, the one that had kept Buckhorn citizens in line for some time now – the same look that made them all respect him as a man fully capable of handling any situation.

  Not in the least daunted by that black expression, Jordan shoved his door open and stepped out of the car, addressing Morgan over the roof. "You've got about the lousiest damn timing of any man I've ever known!"

  Morgan, red-eyed and looking mean, made a sound reminiscent of a snarl. "I'm leaving that distinction to you, Jordan. And you better have one helluva good excuse for this, otherwise I'm liable to kick your ass all the way home – where my sick wife and fussing baby girl are waiting."

  Jordan prepared to blast him with his own ire, made hotter out of unreasoning sexual frustration. But he'd barely gotten two sputtering words out before Georgia shoved her door open, making Morgan back up a pace. She climbed out of the police car, faced him with a serene expression fit for a queen, and said, "You can handle this little family squabble later. I, for one, would like to get this over with so I can get home."

  IT WAS ALL Georgia could do to keep herself from trembling. The man staring down at her had the most ferocious demeanor she'd ever witnessed on man or rabid dog. Besides being enormous, he was dark and so layered in thick muscle she felt dwarfed beside him.

  And here she'd thought Jordan was huge.

  Actually, the two men were of a similar height, but where Jordan appeared athletic, lean and toned, this man looked like he could eat gravel for breakfast.

  Despite her resolve, she began quaking like a wet Chihuahua. And then suddenly Jordan was at her side.

  "Knock it off, Morgan. You're scaring her."

  When Jordan's hands settled on her shoulders, she didn't move away. She should have, being that Jordan had the power to turn her knees to jelly and her insides to fire. She'd let him kiss her. The reality of that wasn't to be borne.

  The man had the most sinfully seductive voice she'd ever heard, even when insulting and baiting her. She'd done the unthinkable, all because his voice had softened her, melting away her will and her resolve. She scowled at herself, feeling the shame claw at her. She didn't like men – not at all. Not for friends, certainly not for lovers.

  Most definitely not for a one-night stand, which from what she could deduce, was what Jordan Sommerville was after. He'd made no pretense of liking her or approving of her in any way. The arrogant jerk. She forced herself to meet the sheriff's gaze. "Actually, you're not. Scaring me, that is." The lie sounded credible even to her own ears, though neither man seemed to believe her. "So if it's all the same to you I'd just as soon get out of this rain and get going."

  Morgan snorted, eyeing her with a mix of clear annoyance, and perhaps a touch of approval. "So anxious to spend a night in jail, are you?"

  She nearly staggered. "Jail? But..." Her stomach suddenly felt queasy, her knees weak. She couldn't, absolutely couldn't stay away all night. Swallowing hard, and hating what she had to say even before the words left her mouth, she forced herself to meet the sheriff's gaze. "I have to go home. Tonight."

  Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Got a husband waiting for you?"

  She shook her head and felt a raindrop slither down her nose. "Two children."

  Jordan's hands bit reflexively into her shoulders. "What?"

  Georgia felt hemmed in by testosterone. The sheriff looked too grim by half, and she could feel the tension radiating off Jordan. She shifted her shoulders slightly at the pressure of his fingers and he loosened his hold, then turned her around to face him.

  "You have kids?" His eyes were like green fire.

  She lifted her chin. "Yes."

  The shock on his face was replaced with disgust. "Where the hell is your husband?"

  She owed him nothing, certainly no explanations. "Ex-husband. And I have no idea." Jordan's brows smoothed out, and she added, "But wherever he is, I hope he stays there. Now, are you done with you interrogation?"

  The sheriff snorted. "Maybe you should ask me that."

  Jordan, no longer looking like a thundercloud, pulled her behind his back. Georgia couldn't see around him, but she heard him plain enough as he addressed his brother.

  "You're not going to arrest her, Morgan, and you know it, so quit taking your bad temper out on her."

  The sheriff seemed to be spoiling for a fight. "Or what?"

  "Or I'll tell Misty."

  Georgia had no idea who Misty was or why her name would make the sheriff relent, but that's exactly what happened. Sheriff Hudson still sounded annoyed, but no longer so angry. "It's a lousy night for you to do this to me, Jordan."

  "Yeah, well, it wasn't my idea for you to be called, you know."

  "No? What was you idea? To start an all out brawl? I thought you came along to see that there was no trouble, not to insure that there was."

  "I didn't cause the trouble. I was only..."

  His words trailed off as Georgia stepped around him and headed for the bar. If the fool men wanted to stand around in the rain and discuss the situation to death, that was fine with her. But now that she felt certain she wouldn't be locked up, she had a better way to spend her time.

  Before she'd gone five feet, Jordan's hand closed around her elbow. "Where do you think you're going?"

  With a sigh, she drew up short and turned to face him. She shook back one of the long sleeves of his jacket to free a hand, and then shoved her hair out of her face. Her makeup, she knew, was a disaster.

  Not that she cared.

  Jordan's hold on her arm was gentle. His light brown hair hung over his brow, now more wet than otherwise, and his eyes reflected the bar lights, appearing almost ... hungry. She looked quickly away. "I've got money on the stage. If I don't get it now, Bill will abscond with it and I'll have wasted the night for nothing. Since you two don't seem in a big hurry to rush off, and the other sheriff is apparently done inside—"

  "Bill?"

  He did seem to get hung up on every male name she mentioned. "The owner of the bar. The man you came to see before you got...sidetracked." She tried to pull away but Jordan wasn't letting go.

  He turned to Morgan. "Can you give us just a moment?"

  "Just." Morgan didn't look happy over the concession, but then, she doubted that this one ever looked happy. "Malone will only stay in bed when I'm there to force her to it. Otherwise, you know how she is. She'll be up and running around, making herself feverish again...."

  "We'll be quick. Why don't you go warm up the car?"

  With a shrug, the sheriff turned away. Georgia watched him go with relief. "Who's Malone?"

  "His wife, Misty."

  So it was his wife that Jordan had threatened him with? That seemed curious to Georgia.

  "Why does he call her Malone...never mind." Disgusted with herself, Georgia turned away. She didn't care about these men or their strange ways. She walked briskly into the bar, doing her best to ignore the warm touch of Jordan's hand on her arm as he kept pace with her. Even through his coat sleeve, she could feel his strength, his heat. And for some absurd reason, she reacted to it. He had her thinking things she hadn't thought in years, contemplating pleasures she was certain didn't even exist.

  Bill was just scooping up the money off the stage when they walked in. Jordan released her and she marched forward, saying sweetly, "Why thank you, Bill. I so appreciate you looking after my money for me."

 
; Bill had the kind of slick good looks that he assumed would get him anything he wanted from women. To Georgia, his perfectly styled blond hair, dark blue eyes, and capped teeth only emphasized what a fraud he was. She didn't trust him one iota and never would.

  Bill flashed her a surprised look. "Georgia! I thought you were gone."

  "Almost." She stuck out her hand expectantly and Bill tucked the money closer to his chest. "I'm waiting," she said, well used to having to deal with Bill and his miserly ways. Like most men, he had a self-serving streak a mile wide, a selfish attitude whenever it came to money and he didn't hesitate to screw someone when he thought he could get away with it.

  "What about the damages to my bar?" he blustered, and cast a nasty look at Jordan Sommerville.

  Georgia glanced at Jordan, too, and saw that he had an expression almost as fierce as his brother's. It was the same look he'd worn earlier, when Larry had held on to her wrist. He'd said he was furious ... because he thought she might be hurt.

  She turned away. "That wasn't my doing, Bill, and you know it. Take up your grievances with the boys locked away. But give me my money." When Bill still dithered, looking undecided as to whether or not he had to obey, she narrowed her eyes and said, "You know I can dance anywhere, Bill. Don't push me. I need the money."

  With a foul curse that would have embarrassed her as little as a month ago, Bill thrust the wad of bills into her hands. Most of them were ones, but altogether, it should amount up to a hundred dollars or more, money she needed to make repairs to the house she'd recently bought. With a sugary sweet, utterly false smile, she muttered, "Thank you."

  She turned to Jordan, saw his look of contempt, and sniffed. Sanctimonious jerk. "I'm ready if you are."

  Jordan held the saloon door open for her and kept stride with her on the way to the large black sport utility vehicle his brother drove. Some official car, she thought, eyeing the shiny black four-wheel-drive Bronco.