"Do you know when my mother died, Jordan?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't ask Michael for the exact date."
She stared down at his plate, as if not quite sure how it had arrived in her hands. "I guess I still don't quite understand how the subject of my birth mother came up in a conversation you were having with your brother."
Jordan paid great attention to the simple act of scooping coffee grounds into the filter basket. "I don't exactly remember myself."
She sent him a look that was more regretful than angry. "What are you hiding from me, Jordan?"
"Nothing—"
"Don't lie," she snapped. "I may have deceived myself about a lot of things while I was engaged to Michael, but in other ways I had a very clear understanding of his character. For one thing, he's entirely conventional and utterly predictable. And before you rush to his defense, I consider those to be very desirable characteristics. I've always been conventional myself, and I admire predictability—"
She might understand Michael's character, Jordan reflected, but she sure didn't understand her own. "I don't see where this conversation is going, Em."
"Michael was going to buy me a diamond necklace as his wedding gift to me," she said quietly. "To make doubly sure that he bought exactly what I was expecting, he took me with him to the jewelers when he went to select it."
"Finding Maria was his surprise gift. That means you weren't to know about it—"
She shook her head. "Don't even try to convince me, Jordan. Your brother would have been no more likely to search for my birth mother as a wedding gift than he would have been to take up bungee jumping."
"But he did search for your mother, so for once you have to accept that you've misjudged him." Jordan took two mugs from the cupboard. "Here, let's take our coffee into the living room, shall we?"
"Sure." Emily closed the dishwasher and set it going.
He had the feeling that if he'd suggested standing on their heads to drink their coffee, she'd have agreed just as easily.
"Of course!" she exclaimed, her gaze in focus again. "Oh, my God, of course! That explains everything."
"What explains everything?" Jordan was horribly afraid that he knew what she was going to say next.
"Why Michael was looking for my birth mother. He was afraid there might be something scandalous in her background that would cause problems for his campaign. That's why he had his team of investigators searching for her. He wanted to be sure she wasn't going to pop out of the woodwork in midcampaign and embarrass him. Or worse, that Kincaid's campaign would spring her on him when he least expected it."
Jordan accepted the inevitable. Emily was, unfortunately, way too smart to be deceived. Lying wasn't going to achieve any useful purpose at this point. In fact, it was an insult to her strength of character to keep trying to distort the truth. "You're right," he said finally. "Michael was afraid your mother might present potential problems to his campaign. That's exactly why he initiated the investigation. I'm sorry, Em. I shouldn't have lied to you."
"I understand. You were trying to protect your brother, which is a habit of yours. It's odd, you know. Michael always appears so self-confident, and yet he must be pathetically insecure deep down inside." Her forehead wrinkled in thought, and she seemed to be talking as much to herself as to him. "Although I don't really understand why he would expect voters to pay any attention to my birth mother. I'm an adult, responsible for my own actions, and it's the Suttons who raised me. What relevance could Maria's life have?"
Jordan hesitated only for a moment. "Do you want me to answer that honestly?"
"Most definitely yes. I'm sick of being lied to by you and your brother."
Jordan decided to be brutally honest, to compensate somewhat for his earlier half truths. "Then I would say that in an ideal world, Maria's activities would have zero impact on Michael's campaign for governor. But in the real world, in a tight race, I can imagine scenarios where rumors about your birth mother could have enough of an impact to affect the outcome. If she were tied to organized crime, just to give an example."
"Is that what Michael's investigation uncovered?" Emily asked. "That Maria had ties to organized crime?"
"No, of course not—"
"But his investigation did uncover something terrible," she said slowly. "Of course it did. How could I have been so blind? That's why Dylan didn't get anywhere with his investigation. Michael, or more likely one of his cronies, threatened the agency employees with prosecution if they told anyone else what they'd told already told him!"
Emily was getting visibly enraged. "And that also explains why Michael—Mr. Conventional personified— dumped me only hours before our wedding. His investigative team dug out the dirt on my birth mother right before he came into the study and said we had to call off the wedding."
"Even if that's true, do you care?" Jordan asked. "Given what you know now, would you want to be married to Michael?"
"Of course I wouldn't!" she yelled. "But that doesn't excuse Michael's slimy behavior." She rounded on him, eyes flashing. "Did you know about all this when you offered to marry me?"
"No. I found out this afternoon."
"When you went to Michael and demanded to know why he'd dumped me. I see it all now." She paced up and down the kitchen a couple of times, her entire body radiating anger. "Okay, exactly what did Michael find out about my mother, Jordan? And before you invent any more charming lies, remember that I'm her daughter. The least you and your brother owe me is a few honest answers."
He'd bungled this whole situation to the point where he had no option but to tell her the truth, Jordan decided. And since there was no way to make the truth pretty, he gave it to her straight.
"Maria Vasquez was an undocumented immigrant from Mexico," he said. "According to the evidence Michael's team unearthed, she earned her living as a prostitute."
"I see." Emily's voice was heartbreakingly steady. "And my father?"
From somewhere, Jordan dragged up the courage to meet her gaze. He kept his voice carefully neutral. "It seems unlikely that Maria knew who your father was."
"I see," she said again. Her face slowly drained of color, but her chin angled defiantly.
"I really need some privacy right now, Jordan. Please don't follow me."
She turned away and walked toward the bathroom, but Jordan swiftly interposed himself between her and the door.
"I asked you for some privacy," she said, her voice icily calm.
"I know."
"Then move away. There's nowhere in this damned apartment to be alone except in the bathroom."
"Grieve for your mother," he said. "Be angry with me and my brother if you want. But don't confuse the two emotions, Em."
Her eyes glittered. "What the hell is that piece of psychobabble supposed to mean?"
"Don't take out your anger on your mother because Michael investigated something that wasn't his business, and then didn't tell you what he'd found out. And while you're straightening out confused emotions, you might remind yourself that you're not to blame because Maria died before you could find her."
She spoke through gritted teeth. "I realize that—"
"I hope you do. And I hope you also realize that knowing Maria worked as a prostitute doesn't tell you everything there is to know about her. That's the way my brother thinks. Don't fall into his simplistic pattern of thinking, Em."
"Right, I won't." Emily's voice wobbled. "I'm sure my mother was a whore with a heart of gold. I'll bet she had the purest damned heart in the state of Texas."
He had never seen Emily like this, raw with the bitterness of her emotions. "It could be that your mother had a very loving heart," Jordan told her quietly. "After all, she chose to be pregnant with you for nine months, when having an abortion must have been an easier option for her."
Emily squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and when she opened them again, some of the frightening desolation had gone. "You're right. I was angry with Maria for not b
eing the perfect mother because that was less painful than feeling anything more complicated."
"I have a shoulder handy if you need one to cry on."
"Thanks, but I don't feel like crying right now." She moved closer, putting her hand flat against his chest. "I owe you, Jordan. That's the second time in the past two weeks that you've saved me from making a really bad mistake."
He wondered if she could feel the hammer of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. To him, each thump felt powerful enough to rouse the dead. Better move out of the danger zone before he did something unforgivable, he decided. Emily was vulnerable right now, and only a prime quality bastard would take advantage of her fragility. He stepped back, his spine pressing hard against the bathroom door, and tipped his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. "You're welcome. Jordan's Roadside Rescue is always at your service."
The feeble attempt at humor did nothing, not one damn thing, to dampen the desire that had him in its thrall. The muscles in his stomach were tying themselves in hot, slippery knots, and his arms ached with the effort of not reaching out to hold her. How was it, he wondered despairingly, that with Emily, he could jump from sympathy to lust in one mindless leap?
Emily didn't have the sense to walk away from him. She remained standing in front of him, hands hanging loosely at her sides, the rich coppery brown of her hair accenting the continued pallor of her face. At some deep gut level, Jordan knew he wouldn't meet with much resistance if he tried to make love to her right now. An offer of sympathy, a few slick moves, and she was vulnerable enough to succumb.
Of course, an honorable man would never take advantage of her emotional fragility, but then, as his mother would say, when had anyone ever accused Jordan Chambers of being honorable? His back was to the wall, literally and figuratively, and he had no more fight left in him. How could he resist taking her to his bed, when he'd fallen in love months ago? When he'd spent the past ten days falling deeper and deeper in love? He knew, damn it, that he could bring Emily enough physical pleasure to ease the ache of her loss. Under the circumstances, was it really wrong to seduce her?
The argument continued to rage inside him for several long, silent moments, but Jordan knew the real battle was already lost. Emily's vulnerability wasn't going to protect her. On the contrary, it called out to his primitive masculine urge to defend by domination. And if he needed further justification, the awareness that he'd seen in her eyes provided it, allowing him to believe that at some profound, elemental level she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Shaking off the last twinges of guilt, Jordan stepped forward to take her into his arms and, as he'd instinctively known, she didn't resist. He bent his head slowly toward her, giving her time to turn away, but she didn't. He touched his mouth to hers.
For an instant, he felt her resist. Then she drew in a shuddering breath and clung to him, her mouth moving hungrily beneath his. Her kiss was already full of desire, waiting to be answered and then taken to the next level. He held her as he'd dreamed of holding her, possessively hard, erotically close. Through the fog clouding his brain, Jordan marveled at the miracle that made him harder the more he wanted her, while Emily became softer and ever more yielding.
He didn't speak. Didn't dare to introduce any words that might shatter the hot, brittle shell that kept them bonded together. Emily was silent, too, but when he unfastened the buttons of her blouse and found her breasts, she gave a soft moan. A sound of pleasure so intense that he felt it to the core of his being.
He took off her clothes with practiced ease, shedding items as he moved them closer to the bed. She smelled of woman, overlaid with a soft verbena fragrance that was simultaneously discreet and erotic. Essence of Emily, he thought, encapsulated in a perfume. The taste of her was on his tongue, the feel of her on his skin, the rasp of her unsteady breath in his ears. Aroused as he was almost beyond reason, a tiny part of his brain nevertheless stood on one side and counted down the seconds until he could be inside her. Like a master musician, lost in the glory of the symphony while at the same time utilizing technical expertise to create the perfect sounds, Jordan realized that he was employing every seductive trick he knew to lure Emily into the bedroom without breaking the spell of their mutual desire.
And then she was there. Lying in his arms, in his bed, her hair splayed out on his pillow, her body naked to his gaze. He even had his condom ready. A few more minutes, another couple of accomplished moves, and he could make her his.
Except that she was crying. Typical quiet, restrained Emily tears. But for some reason, despite the tears, she wasn't resisting him. Her body was still soft and slick, her movements languid with desire. Jordan had enough experience to be damned sure she wasn't faking it. It would be so very easy to pretend he hadn't seen the tears.
Temptation painted the edges of his vision scarlet, so he closed his eyes. His heart pounded loud and fast in his chest. Too loud. Too fast. He rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling, trying to reclaim the shreds of his integrity. Shame washed over him, a cold Arctic wave, cooling red-hot desire.
When he was fairly sure that he would be able to speak in something that could pass for a normal voice, he sat up in the bed and looked down at Emily.
He touched his fingertip to one of the tears, half-dried on her cheek. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?" he asked.
Her eyes darkened, but she didn't look away. "Because I didn't want you to stop."
"You were crying."
"Yes."
His eyebrow quirked. "Want to expand on that answer just a little?"
"I cry when I feel deep emotions. Happy emotions as well as sad."
His blood began to hum again and hope had his heart pounding with all its previous force. "You didn't want me to stop?"
"No. I didn't want you to stop."
Jordan leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms across his chest. "If you ask me really nicely, I guess I could be persuaded to start all over again."
Emily reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down, kissing him in a way that had the symphony roaring in his head again.
"Is that asking you nicely enough?" she murmured.
"I'm not sure." He let out a long, unsteady breath. "Repeat the request and I'll let you know."
She kissed him again. "You're shaking," she said when they finally drew apart.
"Am I?" He gave a rueful laugh. "It's been a rough night."
She kissed him a third time. "Getting better?"
"By the second."
Emily started at his chest, then walked her fingers down his body with slow deliberation and clear intent. Jordan concentrated on not totally losing his mind. He forgot all the skill he'd acquired in previous sexual encounters. His vaunted expertise, normally guaranteed to provide his partner with the thrill of a lifetime, vanished. He wanted to make this experience perfect for Emily but he couldn't think, couldn't plan, couldn't orchestrate. Hot with passion, beside himself with need, he followed blind instinct. He stroked her until she trembled, kissed her until the taste of her was absorbed into every atom of his being, and when he knew he could hold out for only a few minutes longer, he slid between her thighs.
He hadn't been prepared for Emily's soft cry when he entered her, nor for her shudder of pleasure as he began to move. Most of all, he hadn't been prepared for the surge of profound emotion that overcame him as he watched delight and stunned incredulity chase across her face as she hurtled toward climax.
He followed her down, soaring into the depths.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There was absolutely nothing like sex for clouding a man's brain and ruining his powers of concentration, Jordan reflected. Unless it was love. He had staggered through most of the day in a state of lustful infatuation that left him only a scant step more functional than a drunk coming off a two-day binge. Now, with his parents' party looming ahead, he was attempting to act like a suave, sophisticated man-about-town when all he really wanted to do was
take Emily home and rip her clothes off. Why in hell was he trussed up in a monkey suit, attending the Texas Fund for Children gala benefit, when they could be lying in bed, blissfully naked and making love?
He drew the car to a halt, finally able to take his eyes off the road and look at his wife. Perhaps it was worth sacrificing a few hours of nakedness, just to see Emily dressed up for the party. She was one of those fortunate women who always looked attractive, but tonight she wasn't just attractive, she was beautiful. Stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful. He knew she'd called Dylan Garrett early this morning and asked him to locate Maria Vasquez's grave site. Whatever other demons she'd been forced to wrestle with during the past twenty-four hours, she'd clearly come to terms with her mother's death, at least temporarily. Tonight she had decided to take on the world—and San Antonio's gossips—with all flags flying.
He opened the passenger door on his SUV and Emily stepped out of the car, exposing a long length of leg, en-cased in glittery dark stockings. He'd decided back in the apartment that her dress, a plain black sheath, must be glued to her body, since it had no other visible means of support. It was also slit at the left seam from hem to upper thigh. Upper, upper thigh, Jordan realized belatedly, as Emily maneuvered herself out of the car.
He handed his keys to the bug-eyed parking valet, not sure whether to punch the guy on the nose for his slack-mouthed admiration of Emily's legs, or shake his hand and compliment him on his excellent taste.
Jordan offered Emily his arm. Fortunately, she accepted, or there would have been a major altercation right there on his parents' marble steps. Having seen the parking valet's reaction to her outfit, Jordan planned to remain a permanent fixture at her side for the rest of the evening. And if his behavior bore more resemblance to a chest-thumping caveman than the sophisticated man of the world he was supposed to be…well, so be it. A wife with legs like Emily's tended to bring out the primitive traits in a man's character.
His Brother's Fiancée Page 19