by Lori Foster
“I was a burden to my daughter at a time when she needed me most.”
“No.” Jordan shook his head, knowing exactly what Georgia would have to say about that. “That’s not true. Family helps family. Period. She was there for you, just as you’re here for her now. She’s told me several times how much you contribute.”
Ruth tilted her head. “You sound like a man with a close family.”
“Yes. Like you, my mother is divorced.” His mother, however, had always been one of the strongest, most independent women he knew. Of course, she’d had a fabulous first husband who’d shown her exactly what marriage should be. And that had thankfully gotten her through her marriage to Jordan’s father.
Jordan forced a smile for Ruth’s benefit. “She’s also happily remarried. Through it all, we’ve stayed a very close family.”
“I like you, Jordan.”
She said that as if he’d passed a test. “I like you, too.”
“And you like my daughter?”
When he hesitated, not quite sure how she meant it and afraid of committing himself to her, she laughed. “That’s all right. I didn’t mean to pressure you. But I will tell you that it’s not going to be easy.”
“I already figured that out.”
She laughed again. “The end of this long tale is that shortly after Georgia got pregnant with Adam—an accident, and a blessing from God—Dennis’s parents convinced him that he was overburdened, that Georgia had gotten pregnant on purpose just to chain him down.” Under her breath she muttered, “As if a broken condom was her fault.”
That was definitely not an image Jordan wanted haunting his brain. He frowned.
“Dennis had always been pampered, and as their bills started to pile up and things got tougher and tougher, he got more and more distant, more willing to run home to his parents. And unfortunately, more willing to run up additional bills. Their combined incomes just weren’t enough, and one day he went home to his folks and never came back.”
Jordan nodded in satisfaction. “So she divorced him?”
“Yes. Georgia was really hurt. She loved him and yet he just walked away. She agreed to a peaceful divorce, and allowed the courts to divide the bills down the middle even though many of them had been his recent purchases. She wanted to make the transition as easy on the children as she could. But the really sad part is that Dennis agreed to it all, wished Georgia well, then stole several thousand dollars from his parents and took off. Not only did he not pay his half of the bills, he’s never paid a dime of child support.”
“He doesn’t see the kids?”
“No. No one’s heard from him since he left. His parents blamed Georgia, and added to her burden—until I told them I’d have the police after their precious son for skipping out on his responsibilities.”
She looked downright feral again, and Jordan nodded. “Good for you.”
“No, it was an error in judgment. His parents apologized and promised to pay Dennis’s share of things. Georgia argued with them. They were Dennis’s bills, not his parents. But they insisted, and she believed them. She…trusted them. In the end, they were only biding their time until they could petition the court for custody of Adam and Lisa. They even tried to accuse Georgia of being an unfit mother.”
Rage churned forth in Jordan, taking him by surprise. In a voice of icy rage, he said, “They obviously failed in their efforts.”
“Yes. But not without a lot of cost and heartache to my daughter. And they didn’t give up. They dogged her steps everywhere she went, making her lose jobs, constantly posing a threat to her peace of mind. Not once have they ever shown genuine concern or caring for the children. The few times they visited them, they tried to fill their heads with poison, bad-mouthing Georgia while making Dennis sound like a saint that she’d run off. Can you imagine? Their own blood kin, yet all they’re interested in is using the kids to try to hurt Georgia.”
“They’re beautiful children,” Jordan said with sincerity. He’d been surprised at how much he’d enjoyed making pancakes with them that morning. Lisa and Adam were lively and bright and polite. “She’s done a good job with them.”
“Yes, she has. And she’d die before letting anyone hurt those kids. So finally we thought it was best to simply move away. It makes me so mad, I want to spit.”
Jordan could easily see where Georgia got her backbone. He patted Ruth’s hand and tried to calm her. “Don’t get yourself all riled up. You’ll get winded again and the doctors will throw me out.” He smiled. “Besides, Georgia is here now, away from them, and the kids seem very happy. I wish she hadn’t gone through so much, but all in all, I admit I’m pleased with the outcome.”
“Moving here was a blessing,” Ruth agreed. “And you know, it was my ex-husband who made it possible.”
Jordan raised a brow. He hoped the man had somehow redeemed himself, had supported his daughter and her decisions—mistakes included—after all. “How’s that?”
“He died.”
Not the happy ending he’d been looking for. Jordan sighed, wishing Georgia had been able to resolve things with her father before his death, but he had the feeling even that had been denied her.
“He hadn’t ever gotten around to changing his will. He had money that he’d hidden during our divorce. It all came to me. Not that there was a fortune or anything. But it was enough to finance the move and put a down payment on the house. I just hate seeing Georgia work so hard to keep it all together.”
“I intend to help her with that.”
Ruth shook her head. “She won’t like it. Everyone she’s ever relied on has let her down. Her father, her husband, her in-laws. She’s determined to be totally independent this time.”
“You never turned your back on her.”
“No, but I made some awful mistakes.”
Jordan pushed to his feet, anxious to see Georgia again now that he had a better understanding of her. “Making mistakes is the name of game. We’re human, so it happens. Trying to atone for mistakes is what makes you a mother.”
She grinned at that. “True. So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“One thing, Jordan, before you leave.”
“Yes?” He turned to face her.
“If you think there’s any chance at all you might hurt her, it’d be better if you walked away right now.”
Jordan stared down at his feet. He didn’t want to hurt her. Ever. But even more than that, he didn’t want to walk away. He wanted to gather her closer, much closer. He wanted to bind her to him in some undeniable way.
He made plans for the coming weeks, how he’d ingratiate not only himself, but his best selling tool—his family. They were irresistible, and once Georgia got comfortable sharing with them, relying on them and letting them rely on her, she’d soften. She had to.
Jordan shook his head. No doubt about it, he was in over his head. But damned if he wasn’t starting to like it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WITH AN OUTRAGED and appalled gasp, Georgia slapped the stage curtain back into place. “Damn him!” Her heart felt lodged in her throat, and with a lot of trepidation, she looked down at her costume.
“Oh, God.” It looked worse than she’d first thought, given that Jordan was about to see her in it. Again she pulled the curtain aside and peeked out. But Jordan was still there, sitting at a front-row table as had become his preference, scowling at every other man in the room. He resembled a dog guarding a bone.
What in the world was wrong with him? She should have been able to ignore him, and in fact, when he’d first shown up as part of the audience, she hadn’t even realized he was there until she’d almost finished. She made it a point not to look at the men in the audience; it was the only way she could get through putting herself on display that way. But she’d felt something different that night, something that had affected her deep inside. Against her will her gaze had sought out the source of her discomfort—and clashed with Jordan�
�s hot green stare.
She’d missed a step and nearly fallen on her face. He’d looked as menacing as Morgan ever had. Of course, now that she knew Morgan better, she knew most of his dark countenance was bluster. Not so with Jordan. His brothers insisted on telling her—in private little whispers-that Jordan was the most even tempered one, the pacifist, the gentlest of men. Ha! Twice now, he’d almost started another fight.
Bill had threatened to ban him from the bar and Georgia had silently prayed that he’d follow through. But then Jordan had slipped her boss a twenty, and Bill had grinned and walked away. Curse him.
The music was getting louder, her cue had come and gone, and she could hear the rumble of impatient voices out front. If she didn’t get going, she’d have to start the CD over.
She lifted her chin. So what if this particular costume left her stomach bare? That you could see her navel? So what that more of her backside showed than was covered? All that meant was that her tips tonight would be especially good and she’d finally be able to afford the electrical work needed on the house. If Jordan didn’t like what she wore…well, too bad. She wasn’t too crazy about him right now anyway.
Determination masking her churning nervousness, Georgia thrust the curtain aside and made an entrance onto the stage. She had every intention of ignoring Jordan completely.
Of course, that was before he fell off his chair.
He took one look at her, dropped his cola and toppled. Luckily no one seemed to pay him any mind as he hauled himself back up and into his seat.
Georgia deliberately turned her back on him—and heard a roar of applause along with some loud wolf whistles, likely because the bottom of her costume was no more than a thong. Embarrassment washed over her, so hot she felt light-headed and couldn’t see beyond the fog of shame. She knew she was blushing. Everywhere. The dance steps that normally came so easily to her now felt forced and awkward; she had to concentrate hard to keep to her rhythm.
At least, she told herself as she executed a high kick, her top was more concealing. It had midlength sleeves and a V-shaped neck with lapels. The whole outfit was stark white, including the stupid little hat that Bill had insisted on. She wore white gloves, white high-heel sandals, and garters with black velvet ribbons.
It looked cheesy, like something out of a fetish catalogue. But already money landed at the front of the stage. Georgia moved farther back, being careful not to lose her footing on the scattering of bills.
By the time she finished her number, she figured there had to be a good three hundred dollars at her feet. Not bad for a night’s pay. She almost smiled. Almost.
And then she accidentally caught Jordan’s eye.
He looked livid, with his eyes sort of red and unfocused. Georgia frowned at him. How such a dominating, stubborn, pushy man could have such nice relatives was beyond her.
With one last bow, she turned and ducked behind the curtain. Her changing room was really a cleaning closet overflowing with supplies. Next to her street clothes hanging on a metal hook, rested a mildewy mop and several stained rags. One bare bench, raw enough to leave splinters in her behind if she was ever foolish enough to sit on it, occupied the space next to the door.
Georgia tossed the foolish hat aside, then leaned against the wall and struggled to catch her breath. Dancing, even at the bar, always left her exuberant. She loved to dance, to feel her movements become fluid like the music. And thanks to Jordan, she no longer had to go on stage in a state of exhaustion. He and his family had forced so much help on her, had been so supportive and friendly and accepting, she’d gotten plenty of rest the past few weeks.
But while she was grateful, she was also resentful because it was Jordan’s fault that she hesitated to answer tonight’s screaming applause with an encore. She just couldn’t make herself go back out there. Not with Jordan watching.
Bill pounded on her door. “Front and center, damn it! They’re calling for you.”
Georgia stared at the closed door. She could probably convince Bill that it was better to leave them wanting more….
Then Jordan’s voice intruded. “If she doesn’t want to go back out there, then leave her alone.”
She gasped in outrage. How dare he confront her boss? Was he trying to get her fired?
She answered her own question with an obvious, resounding yes. Not once had Jordan tried to hide his disdain of The Swine. This time, however, he’d stepped completely over the line.
The door bounced hard against the wall when she threw it open. Both Jordan and Bill jumped, but Georgia stomped right past them to the steps leading up on stage. It was uncanny, but she could actually feel the searing heat of Jordan’s gaze on her exposed rump.
The second she opened the curtain, the men bellowed their appreciation. More money came flying her way and Georgia, with grim resolve, submitted to the attention.
After three encores she was finally left in peace.
For all of one minute.
She’d just stepped out of her high-heel sandals and started to relax when Jordan walked in without knocking. His gaze did the quick once-over, searing her from head to toes and everywhere in-between. Georgia glared at him. “What are you doing here?”
Despite his heated expression, his tone sounded mild enough. “I was already out.”
She didn’t buy it for a second. “Try again, Jordan.”
“All right.” He didn’t appear the least put off by her hostile attitude. But then, she’d already realized how pigheaded he could be in his determination. “I stopped by to see your mother. She had the kids in bed, so I missed visiting with them. We took tea in the patio room, and when she started yawning, I told her that she should turn in, too. Though she’s doing so much better, Sawyer says she should continue to get plenty of rest.”
His words were easy and rehearsed. But his gaze burned over her, lingering in places that always felt too sensitive whenever Jordan Sommerville was in the vicinity.
Realizing she still wore the stupid gloves, she jerked them off and stuffed them into her bag. Jordan leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched her every movement with an intensity that set her stomach to roiling. She couldn’t very well finish changing with him standing there.
“It’s rude to stare,” she grumbled.
“Honey, the whole point of that getup is to make men stare.”
She lost it, stepping forward and poking him hard in the chest. “Not you! Other men, okay, men who want to watch me dance, men who—”
Rubbing at his chest and frowning at the same time, Jordan interjected, “I came to watch you dance.”
“No, you came to watch everyone else watch me dance!” Her head pounded, keeping time with her heart. She felt ready to burst into tears, to scream. He and his family were so wonderful, so giving, they made her feel terrible in comparison. All her life she’d screwed up. Having Jordan around only emphasized that, and weakened her resolve to learn independence. But she needed to know she could protect her children now, and in the future.
“You,” she said in a tone nearing a snarl, “came to make sure no one did anything improper like speak to me.”
Jordan took his own step forward. “Are you telling me you want to converse with these yahoos?”
“I’m telling you it’s none of your damn business what I do!”
Jordan stalled, then in a voice as soft as warm velvet, he whispered, “I want it to be my business, though. Keeping my hands off you the past few weeks has been torture. Hell, Georgia…”
Her heart slammed into her ribs. He reached for her, touched her face with a gentleness she’d never known, and her knees went weak. “Jordan?”
Even to her own ears, his name sounded like a plea. The past few weeks had been hell, with the memory of his touch haunting her. She’d dreamed about that morning in the kitchen, and every night the dreams got hotter, more real.
Jordan cupped her jaw. “Don’t ask me to go away, sweetheart. And don’t ask me not to c
are.”
Georgia watched his eyes darken, now so close to her own since he loomed over her. She exhaled on a trembling sigh. “You’re making me crazy,” she admitted. “I don’t even know what I’m thinking or saying anymore.”
His gaze flickered, becoming more intimate, hotter. “I don’t mean to upset you.”
“I know that.” She almost laughed, it was so absurd. Jordan and his family had irrevocably changed her life—all for the better. Casey cut her grass, Gabe fixed her leaky pipes, they all doted on the children and on her mother. And on her.
But what if she came to depend on them, if she let her children start to love them, and then they went away? What would she do then? She’d be no better off, and she’d have the memories to torment her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but quickly opened them again when Jordan’s big thumb teased at the corner of her mouth. “Jordan,” she said, hoping to make him understand, “dancing on that stage is hard enough for me. Especially in this getup. I do what I have to do, but I don’t like it. When you’re here, passing judgment and waiting to condemn, well…it only makes me more nervous.”
Jordan shook her gently. “I’m not condemning you. How could you even think that?”
“You condemn all this.” She’d learned so much about him from his family. Her visits with them had started out strained, but Honey wasn’t a woman who left anyone feeling uncomfortable, and his brothers were too outrageous to be kept at an emotional distance. They treated her with all the teasing irreverence normally reserved for a little sister. And she loved it.
Where Jordan tended to close up about anything personal, his brothers took delight in sharing his deepest darkest secrets. Gabe had told her that Jordan never drank. And Morgan had told her because of his father, he protested any abuse of alcohol.
Georgia shook her head. “You may not condemn me specifically, but the bar, the men here, the atmosphere… And I’m a part of it, Jordan.” She hesitated, unsure how much she wanted to push him, especially in a damn closet, but she just couldn’t take it anymore.
