Mr. Irresistible

by Karina Bliss

  He turned back to see Kate grab her coat and head for the door.

  He came up behind her as she opened it, and leaned against it. “You can’t go.”

  “Watch me.”

  Jordan pulled her into his study and closed the door.

  “Talk to me.”

  “You were looking at me like a tooth that needs pulling.” Kate had been kidding herself that a short romance was better than none. In reality it was like living on death row.

  “I think I’m in love with you.”

  If anything, she felt more hurt. “And you don’t want to be.”

  “It’s not something I’d choose right now,” he admitted.

  Kate had hoped he’d deny it, and despised herself for her weakness. He’d never pretended, never made promises, never said or done anything to make her believe he was a commitment kind of guy.

  “Well, let me take the choice out of your hands. Goodbye.”

  “You’re dumping me?” His incredulity made Kate mad. His disappointment wasn’t about love; it was about ego.

  “Yes. I could have handled light, I could have handled ‘no strings,’ but I’m damned if I’ll accept horror-struck.”

  “Kate, I’m being cautious because I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “No, Jordan, you’re being cautious because you don’t want to get hurt. Step aside.”

  “Give me time,” he said desperately, “to get it straight in my head.”

  “I need you to love me the way I love you, from the heart. If you’re not prepared to do that, then step aside.”

  He stepped aside.

  “EVERYTHING OKAY?”

  Jordan looked up from the couch to see his two friends at the study door, music pouring in with them. He’d forgotten he still had guests.

  He raised an imaginary gun to his head and pulled the trigger. “Laugh,” he invited, “I know you want to.”

  “I want to,” admitted Christian, “but I can’t because I know how bad it feels.”

  Jordan looked up at Luke, who shrugged. “Frankly, I never thought it was funny.”

  “You have to.” Jordan got mad. “I need you guys to make light of it, to tell me I’m better off without a bossy redhead, that I’m not ready.”

  “Trouble is,” interrupted Luke, “if you don’t believe it, we can’t make you.”

  “This is your fault.” Jordan stabbed a finger toward Christian’s chest. “You and that damn gun prophecy of yours, worming its way into my subconscious, screwing with my mind.”

  “That’s right, buddy,” said Christian soothingly, “let it all out.”

  He threw his hands up in disgust. “What does the woman want…? I told her I loved her.”

  “Did you sound this happy about it?” Luke asked carefully.

  “I said the timing wasn’t great. What, should I have I lied?”

  Christian exchanged a look with Luke. “You know what surprises me?”

  “Yeah, that Kate didn’t use the gun,” Luke answered. “Without sounding unsympathetic, Jordan, how is this breakup going to affect Saturday’s column?”

  “KATE.” Her editor stuck his head in the door. “I’ve been talking to Jordan King. He said you won’t return his calls.”

  The column. In the end, that was all Jordan cared about. Kate was trying to be fair, knowing the camp was so much more important than her broken heart.

  “It’s okay,” she said, through the agony. “Everything is under control.”

  Unconvinced, Henry came in. “King’s concerned about your credibility if you print a column and readers find out you have a personal relationship. He’s suggesting you don’t write anything. He’ll find another fix for his reputation.”

  “What he’s really worried about,” Kate said bitterly, “is that I’m going to rip him apart in the column because we ended that personal relationship. It’s a ploy to shut me down.” She told her editor what her plan was and, satisfied, he went away.

  Alone, Kate stared blindly at the words on her screen. She didn’t think Jordan could hurt her any more than he had the night of the party. She’d been wrong.

  THERE WAS ONLY ONE recourse left to him and Jordan took it. He couldn’t let Kate print that column; the gossip mill was already circulating stories of how the two of them had been “surprised” at his birthday party. Sooner or later a tabloid would pick up the story.

  Good or bad, Kate’s credibility would suffer. And he’d made her suffer enough. Any hope of salvaging his own reputation was long gone. All social services and the anti-camp brigade would see was Jordan embroiled in yet another scandal—corrupting a respected journalist.

  Two days before Kate’s column was due to be printed, he walked into the spartan office of social services and shook hands with the director in charge of approving the camp, the one who’d raised concerns about Jordan’s involvement.

  “A real pleasure to meet you,” Keith Forsyth greeted him warmly. “Sit down, sit down.”

  Puzzled, Jordan took a seat. He’d expected reserve, even hostility. “You do know who I am?”

  “Very funny, yes, very good.” Keith smiled at him across the desk. “So—” the man raised his grizzled brows “—what can I do for you?”

  Jordan handed over the documents he’d prepared. “Here’s my resignation as camp trustee,” he said. “The second document is a report outlining how I intend to separate myself from the business I own with the two other camp trustees, Luke Carter and Christian Kelly. Neither of my business partners know yet, so I’d appreciate it if you kept this confidential. I want to make sure these will address your concerns before I tell them.” Jordan sat back in his chair. Kate had been right all along; this was his mess to fix.

  Keith was frowning and Jordan’s tired brain searched for the angles he must have missed. Between making this decision, meeting secretly with Triton’s accountant and missing Kate, he hadn’t slept in three days.

  “Well, I have to say—” Keith shook his head “—I’m very disappointed. I hope you’ll reconsider.”

  “You don’t know who I am, do you?” Jordan said at last. “The guy with the messy private life who needs to step back from the camp or you’ll—rightly—withdraw your support.”

  Keith looked at him for a long moment. “I assume you haven’t seen an advance copy of Kate Brogan’s column? She was kind enough to send me one.”

  That hurt. Jordan hadn’t expected positive, but he hadn’t expected vindictive, either. He kept his tone neutral. “May I see it?”

  It’s impossible for me to be impartial about Jordan King so I’m not even going to try. After reading the first line, Jordan braced himself. Turns out a lot of other people aren’t impartial about him, either.

  He pushed the column across the desk. “Maybe I don’t want to read it, after all.”

  Keith pushed it back. “Keep going.”

  What follows are testimonials from all the people Jordan King has helped over the years…a bunch of naughty boys and ratbags who have grown up to be (mostly) responsible and law-abiding citizens. I leave you to make up your own mind about what kind of man Jordan King really is.

  Jordan became very still.

  Jordan King collects strays, Christian wrote. He always has. In his own pushy way, he ‘adopted’ Luke and me, two bad boys from dysfunctional families, when we were all at university together, and took us home to his family. We’ve never left.

  In watching Jordan support his large family through the tough times following his father’s death, wrote Luke, I saw the kind of man I wanted to be. In a real sense, he emotionally prepared Christian and me to start Camp Chance.

  Keith shoved a box of tissues across the desk, and Jordan realized he was crying. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes.

  “I teared up myself,” Keith said, and ripped up the documents Jordan had given him.

  Back in his car, Jordan rang Kate’s editor and waited until the man forced her to take the phone. “I’ve just seen an advanced copy of yo
ur column and I…” The words caught in his throat. “Kate, I love you. I’ve been fighting it because I’m so damn scared of how I feel about you. I choked and I’m sorry.”

  “You know what gets me most?” she asked quietly. “You thought I’d let my personal disappointment get in the way of doing the right thing.”

  “Only because I knew how much I’d hurt you.”

  “That hurt me more,” she said. “If you don’t really know me, then I can’t trust your feelings for me.”

  “Give me another chance, Kate, please. This is real, you know it is.”

  “I want to believe you,” she said, “but I can’t. Goodbye, Jordan.” And she hung up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “WE’VE BEEN LOOKING for you.”

  Jordan opened his eyes and squinted against the afternoon sun. Christian and Luke stood gazing down at him, two slicks in designer suits and sunglasses.

  He should have known his friends would track him down. But then it wasn’t rocket science. Whenever he had a thorny problem to think through, he would cross the road from their offices and find a bench among the trees in Victoria Park.

  “Shit. I forgot that meeting,” he said, registering the significance of their attire.

  “We managed without you,” said Luke. “What’s wrong?”

  “Kate won’t take me back.” He’d returned to work because he couldn’t stand to be alone with his thoughts, but the office chatter was worse. His life had fallen apart; he didn’t give a damn that Triton had successfully signed the Queenstown deal.

  His friends sat on either side of him.

  “I’ve been tearing my hair out for the past hour,” Jordan said, “trying to think of a way to prove I’m ready for love, marriage, the whole kit and caboodle. Nothing. I don’t know how to fix this.”

  “Give up, then,” advised Luke.

  “That’s it?” Jordan snapped. “That’s your advice?”

  “Luke’s right,” said Christian. “It’s way too hard.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he roared. He got up and started pacing.

  “Make him mad,” said Luke. “Always works.”

  Jordan ignored them. “A gesture she can’t argue with…something that removes every doubt about my ability to make a commitment. A gesture as big-hearted as hers.” He glanced up. “Speaking of which, I read what you wrote about me and I just wanted to say—”

  Christian turned to Luke. “It’s so great being with the guys, isn’t it? You don’t have to do postmortems on icky stuff like feelings.”

  “You’ve got that right,” said Luke.

  Jordan grinned. “I knew you’d be embarrassed.” His spirits lifted, and he felt hopeful again. “Okay, I’ll leave you two to talk manly stuff—like Christian’s bridesmaid dress.” He started down the path.

  “Are you that confident of getting the girl?” Luke called curiously.

  “No,” replied Jordan. “The only thing I know for sure is that I’m prepared to die trying.”

  “THESE ARE FOR YOU.” Kate’s secretary walked in with a long elegant box, lavish with red ribbons, and shook her head. The office was strewn with empty coffee cups and papers. “What time did you get here this morning?”

  “Five,” Kate admitted, rubbing her eyes. Work was normally a panacea, but this time it was failing her. Still, it had to be better than tossing and turning.

  “Where shall I put these?”

  “I’ll take them.” Did Jordan honestly think he could change her mind with flowers? Depressed, Kate pushed the box aside and kept working, but it was harder to ignore the gilt-edged card. She resisted for another thirty minutes, then gave up and opened it.

  Remember the conversation around the campfire when I said I’d never met the right woman and Mike said, “Maybe you were never the right man?” We were both right.

  Intrigued now, she undid the ribbons on the box and lifted the last of the tissue paper. For a moment Kate stared blankly at the contents, then started to tremble. The box fell, spilling the contents across the navy carpet.

  Dropping to her knees, she scrambled to capture the loose strands and returned them to the skein of hair, which lay like spun gold half in, half out of the box. It was like trying to pick up fairy dust.

  She rocked back on her heels and covered her face with her hands. “You cut your hair,” she whispered, and burst into tears.

  Through her trembling fingers she caught sight of another card, still lying in the box.

  You’re the right woman, Kate. I’m ready to be the right man.

  SHIRTLESS, JORDAN WAS attracting a lot of female interest, poolside at the Cook Islands Beach Resort.

  Returning from an afternoon with her father, Kate stood for a moment in the hotel’s tropical gardens, lush with palms, exotic blooms and sweet-smelling gardenias, admiring her new husband and smiling as every woman who caught sight of him did a double take. Sorry, ladies, he’s all mine.

  Oblivious to the attention, Jordan stretched out in a deck chair with a drink and a book he wasn’t really reading. He was waiting for her. Kate could tell by the way he glanced up every time someone came through the hotel lobby.

  With his short blond hair disheveled from a swim, and a five o’clock shadow closer to midnight, he looked rugged and as sexy as hell. He kept telling her she was shallow because she was insisting he grow his hair back; she was happy to admit it.

  On impulse, Kate swapped the red hibiscus Fay had given her to her left ear, reclaiming her single status, and stepped out from behind the buttercup tree. Even after a week of marriage, meeting those blue eyes could still make her blush. He had a wicked ability to conjure erotic images with one intense glance.

  This time Kate returned a slow, sensual smile, then her gaze swept provocatively over his half-naked body. Amused, Jordan leaned back in the deck chair and returned her scrutiny—and then some.

  Kate crossed her arms to make sure he didn’t miss the cleavage under her pretty green dress.

  Jordan’s eyes lifted to meet hers and his answer was most definitely yes.

  Kate started to laugh. “Let me think about it,” she called.

  Jordan got up. Oh boy, she knew what that look meant.

  But she stood her ground. Her new husband was going to have to learn he couldn’t daunt her. He stopped a foot away. “Wife,” he said lovingly, “you just reminded me of one lesson I’ve been meaning to teach you.”

  “What’s that, big guy?” Kate teased, knowing she was safe in this crowd.

  She gasped as Jordan picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “I’m going to teach you, Mrs. King, why little girls shouldn’t tease big boys,” he said, and carried her, laughing and breathless, to bed.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6269-4

  MR. IRRESISTIBLE

  Copyright © 2007 by Karina Bliss.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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