by Lavinia Kent
In fact, Alex could not have been happier and had offered to take them all out to dinner, but Jordan had demurred. She didn’t want Amelia and Alex driving home late and she had the feeling that more than anything they needed to be home—alone. It was clear things were going to work out, but they still had much to talk about.
So now she was alone and, for the first time that she could remember, hating it, hating having the time to wonder if she’d made the right decision, to worry that a few minutes of overreacting could have ruined something that might have been good.
* * *
—
Three days of feeling sorry for herself was far too long. She should get dressed and go out. Only she wasn’t quite ready. A quick conversation with Veronica had revealed that, yes, there was gossip, most of it just curious, but some of it catty. Veronica assured her it was only from older women, who were jealous, but that did not reassure her. It had been the women who’d been jealous that she’d married Mark who’d been by far the nastiest.
The doorbell rang, a gentle melody echoing through the house. Jordan looked up from the encompassing chair that she’d been living in these past days. Amelia had called briefly, filled with joy and plans. Jordan had put off all conversations about Clay. Clay, who hadn’t called. Not that she wanted him to.
The bell chimed again.
Should she answer it? She really didn’t want to see anyone right now.
Fuzzy slippers. Unwashed hair. No makeup. And probably a slight odor from living—and sleeping—in her yoga pants for the past two days. No, she definitely didn’t want to see anybody.
It rang again.
Who the hell could it be? She’d better look.
Forcing herself to her feet, she marched to the doorway, peeking to see who it was.
Young. Clean-shaven. Neatly dressed.
She had no idea who he was or why he was knocking on her door. Hopefully he wasn’t handing out religious pamphlets.
Then she heard a strange whining noise. What was that?
Another ring. Another whine.
With some trepidation she opened the door to find a man standing there with a squirming bundle in his arms.
The man held a dainty puppy out to her. “Ms. Robinson? Mr. Windsor asked me to deliver her to you. He said you were expecting her.”
And what did she say to that? She definitely hadn’t still been expecting the sweet thing, but she probably should have been. Clay didn’t seem the type who would take back a gift because they’d had a fight.
She stood there for a moment, unmoving. The puppy whined again, all light russet fur, floppy ears and endless brown eyes, a big pink bow about her neck.
Jordan reached out and took the dog, only somewhat reluctantly. Instantly, it began to squirm, trying to lick her face. “Does she have a name?”
“The breeder called her Dolly, but you’re free to change that. I have her papers and some basic supplies in the car. If you keep holding her, I’ll go get them.”
Fifteen minutes later, after some instructions, the man left, leaving her with a wiggling bundle of love.
How had this happened? She’d never made the decision to accept the puppy, but who could refuse such a cutie-pie? She set the large box filled with blankets and towels beside her comfy chair and set the puppy in it. Dolly instantly began to whine, scratching to be picked up again.
Jordan sat in her chair and lifted the darling onto her lap. She shouldn’t keep her. It had been a big gift to accept before, but with the way things were with her and Clay now…
Still, he’d clearly meant for her to still have the puppy.
Dolly melted into her lap, collapsing in puppy exhaustion.
There was no way she could give her up. Perhaps she could offer to pay for her?
Still feeling sorry for herself, but perhaps a little less, she snuggled in the chair, letting the sleepy puppy nestle in her lap. Her head fell back and for the first time in days she fell into a sound sleep.
* * *
—
The doorbell rang again. Jordan’s head jerked up. The puppy jerked up, her small body vibrating with excitement. Jordan gave Dolly a few cuddles and kisses, then set her on the floor.
That was a mistake.
An instant puddle formed.
She clearly had lessons to learn.
Hopping over the puddle, trying to keep her slippers clean, she scooped up the puppy and headed for the door. She’d see who it was and then head back to clean it up. At least the puppy had hit the hardwood instead of the rug. A good wipe and a few sprays of white vinegar and there’d be no sign that anything had happened.
She would have to remember not to leave an excited puppy on the floor, however.
Trying to contain the squirming bundle, she hurried to the door, and pulled it open.
Veronica and Baxter.
The hound gave a friendly woof and pulled against his lead. Dolly had no such hindrance and it was only a matter of seconds before there was a mass of wagging tails and poking noses.
Veronica laughed, but it did not quite meet her eyes. “So you got the puppy.” It was clear she was taking in every bit of Jordan’s shabby appearance.
“That would be hard to deny. Her name is Dolly. And speaking of her, if you’ll take them into the kitchen and fix yourself a drink—coffee, wine, whatever you want—I have a little cleaning to do and then I’ll join you.”
“Fine, but don’t delay. I’ve let you put me off for three days. It is time for us to talk,” Veronica said as she led Baxter into the kitchen, the prancing puppy following.
Who would ever have thought that cleaning up pee would be a task to be lingered over? Jordan wiped and wiped again. Veronica clearly intended to say what she wanted and there was really only one subject that was likely.
Clay.
Jordan should have realized this was coming. She should have been ready to run.
Pulling back her shoulders, she went to meet her fate.
“You look like hell. And don’t blame the puppy. I know a new dog can be a bit like having a baby, but you look more than tired.”
“I only just got her, not that long before you came.”
“I should have realized. You would have called me otherwise.”
Jordan nodded, although she wasn’t sure. She simply hadn’t been feeling like talking.
Veronica sighed. “I was coming to talk about my life, but clearly yours is more urgent. Is this about Clay? You do know that no man is worth it.”
That brought a bitter smile. “Yes, I know. And I know I’m acting ridiculous. It wasn’t that serious between us. It was mostly sex.”
“I don’t know. This looks like more than sex to me. I don’t think you mope for three days over a hookup, three hours maybe.”
She really didn’t want to think too much about that. “It’s probably just that my feelings got hurt.”
“But you broke up with him.”
“Yes, but I sort of thought he’d fight more. I knew I was overreacting, but I thought he’d calm me down and convince me we should keep trying.”
“And did you let him know that you wanted to work to keep it going?”
“I simply said I wanted to take a break for a while. I didn’t mean that I wanted to completely stop seeing him, but then things got out of hand.”
“Perhaps you should try calling him to let him know that. You can thank him for Dolly. I think it means something that he still got her for you.”
“Maybe he just forgot, or couldn’t cancel the order. It’s not like she’s flowers or chocolates or something you could easily cancel.”
“No, she’s better than that, and I have the feeling that if Clay hadn’t still wanted you to have her, he would have found a way.”
Jordan couldn’t argue with that. “I’m sti
ll not ready to call him. I was pretty awful to him and the problem isn’t gone. I mean, it’s true that our affair hasn’t exactly become headline news, but I’ll still be called a cougar, in a tone that cries cradle-snatcher. And if I keep seeing him, I’ll have to put off plans for the charity.”
Veronica let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I’m not sure that’s true. I think Charles may have exaggerated some and he may have had selfish motivations. It seems awfully convenient that he saw you dating him as the answer. And even if he is right, it wouldn’t be for long. You could always concentrate on starting school in the meantime. And more importantly, I think you need to examine your priorities. I don’t see the woman before me rushing off to get things moving. It looks more to me like you are too busy feeling sorry for yourself to get anything done.”
There was truth to that. It was hard to admit, but she hadn’t been doing anything since she ended things with Clay. “You see things so clearly.”
Veronica gave a little laugh. “When it comes to other people’s lives.”
Jordan flashed her own smile. “It’s funny how it works like that. The answers seem so easy when it comes to someone else.”
* * *
—
God, he wished he had never met her. Clay swung his feet up on his desk, and thumbed through the contacts on his phone. There must be somebody he could call, somebody he wanted to be with in any sense of the word. It might only be two-thirty in the afternoon, but he was already dreading being home alone.
None of the women listed even piqued his interest, not the few he’d had real relationships with or those who’d fallen into the friends-with-benefits category. He paused briefly at Lydia’s name. He could call her. He’d told her off a few days ago, but he bet that wouldn’t matter. He could fuck her, and screw over both her and Jordan.
It was a truly evil thought.
But, and it was a big but, there was a real difference between having a thought and acting on it. It was momentarily fun to think of revenge, but he would never act on it, not against Lydia, and certainly never against Jordan.
Jordan.
Even thinking her name made him quiver.
And that was an awful thought.
He turned back to his phone. Maybe one of his buddies…
Work friends? Jim? No, he wasn’t in the mood. He didn’t want any kind of filter on his words tonight.
College buddies? That would lead to heavy drinking, and he didn’t think a hangover would help the situation.
And after Crew and Jax, he wasn’t even going to think about high school friends.
Which left going home alone.
Or…He looked across the office to the corner where his gym bag lay.
A good workout with the heavy bag followed by a long, refreshing cold shower might be just the thing to clear his head. It had certainly worked, or at least almost worked, every night these past three days.
Chapter 23
After Veronica left, Jordan had returned to her chair and her sulks. Dolly helped. It was hard to be too sad when a puppy was licking your nose, but Dolly had very limited conversational skills and Jordan really needed to talk. She needed somebody to tell her that she was right, that things with Clay truly were impossible.
Veronica had certainly failed at that role.
The problem was that the two people who knew her the best had made it clear they were on Clay’s side. Well, that wasn’t quite fair, but she didn’t feel like being fair.
Veronica was right. She was enjoying feeling sorry for herself.
Dolly slipped from her lap and began to make slow circles on the floor; circles that Jordan had very quickly come to understand. Hurriedly, she picked up the puppy and rushed to the back door, setting the dog down on the still-green grass. The dog gave a low ruff as a leaf blew by, completely distracted from her more urgent needs.
Jordan could only wish that she could be distracted so easily. She set off after the pup, following her exploration and eventual completion of the task at hand. Still, Jordan was in no hurry to bring her back to the house, content instead to follow the dog’s leisurely path, slowly heading down to the beach.
Perhaps she should call Charles again? She knew that he would agree with her decision to avoid Clay—even if Veronica might be right about his motives. Besides, she had promised to take him up on his dinner invite and there was no time like the present. Only the thought didn’t excite her at all, even though she knew Charles should be perfect for her. It was funny how time worked. Charles was close to the same age as Mark. When she’d married Mark everybody had commented on the age difference. Now, at almost thirty-eight, being involved with a fifty-five-year-old didn’t seem odd at all—but still, the ten-year difference with Clay seemed huge.
If only she wanted to date Charles. She should want to date him. He was attractive and interesting and so very appropriate. If she dated him, if she married him, then her life would be set—including her charity. Of course—she glanced about her property—her life was already pretty well set. There wasn’t anything she needed, except for something to make her feel alive. And even more important, valuable. Somebody who would make her embrace her own value.
She wasn’t sure Charles would accomplish any of that. The charity would, but if it only worked because she was involved with Charles, would she ever feel she’d done it herself? Wasn’t that a big part of what this was about?
And why was she even thinking marriage? She had no desire to be remarried.
Which left what?
Dolly began to chase her tail in circles, then stopped to look up at her and Jordan started to laugh.
Simple, beautiful joy—and love. There was no mistaking the look the pup gave her after only hours.
It all felt so easy in that moment. Just as it had with Clay.
Clay, who had given her this small but perfect gift, even after she’d cut him off, quit communicating.
Clay, who made her laugh.
Clay, who made her feel smart and desirable and so very, very alive.
And slowly the conviction began to fill her that she might have made a bad mistake, a very bad one. A mistake that it could be too late to take back.
But she was tired of giving in without a fight. And she wasn’t above fighting dirty, very dirty.
* * *
—
Every muscle in his body hurt. Clay peeled off his shirt and shorts and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pound against his body. He’d been to the gym every day, pushing harder than he could ever remember working. But he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. He might have overdone it a bit.
Oh, that felt good. He turned his face full into the stream, feeling the heat sink through his pores.
And he hadn’t been working any less at the office. He’d used his hurt to laser focus his direction, thinking about nothing but the project at hand, and it was paying off. He was pushing past targets he’d set for the end of the month, two weeks early. If he kept this up he was going to have to take on another project.
Now, if only he could sleep. No matter how tired he was, it seemed that sleep was avoiding him. Oh, he was smart enough to know that wasn’t completely true or his focus would have been far more fuzzy, but it certainly seemed like the night was long and very, very dark.
He’d hoped that Jordan would call when the puppy was delivered. She didn’t need to say anything beyond an acknowledgment of the gift—he would have thought she’d at least do that. Or a text. Or an email. Surely she could have done something.
At least the breeder had let him know she’d kept the dog and he wouldn’t have to take it himself. He avoided picturing the extra bedroom, where he’d stowed the crate and puppy supplies he’d bought just in case. He was glad he didn’t have to worry about a puppy. Yes, he was.
He stepped out of the shower and pulled a tow
el around his waist.
The intercom buzzed.
He walked toward it, dripping, the marble cold beneath his toes, and pressed the button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Windsor, I wanted to let you know that the masseuse is on the way up, as you ordered.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Was it already that time? He must have been in the shower longer than he realized. Thinking of Jordan tended to do that—or more accurately, avoiding thinking of Jordan. Actually, thinking of Jordan in the shower tended to be much more enjoyable, particularly since that night in the hotel when he’d found how far short of reality his imagination could be.
He’d always thought he’d have a chance to explore that even further. He glanced down at himself—that was a thought he needed to stop or the masseuse would think he had something else in mind.
His lips quirked, given that Marta, his regular masseuse, was fifty and a grandmother of two. She’d probably slap him upside the head and then proceed to pound on him until he hurt more than he had at the beginning of the session.
He hurried back to the bathroom to pull his robe off the door. He might wear nothing but a towel for the actual massage, but he wasn’t about to open the door in one.
The elevator rang as he pulled the belt tight, the heavy blue linen wrapping about him.
He strode back to the hall—and stopped suddenly.
There was a portable massage table.
But there was also a puppy carrier. And Jordan, with her chin down, eyes hesitant and even more gorgeous than he remembered. She wore a loose turtleneck over cropped jeans, her feet in tennis shoes. God, she was beautiful.
He stood still, unable to do anything but stare.
* * *
—
“You have a beard.” Those were certainly not the first words she had planned to say, but he looked so different, the neatly trimmed dark hair covering his chin and adding an even more manly air. He’d had a heavy, dense stubble the last time she’d seen him, but nothing approaching this sleek look, this incredibly manly look.