by J. D. Mason
Abby was introduced to politicians, celebrities, and professional athletes, all of whom seemed to revere Jordan, or at least what he represented. And maybe it was just her, but he seemed to stand a little taller than everyone else, his shoulders a bit broader, perhaps. Even the Texas governor paled in comparison to tall, handsome, and regal Jordan Gatewood.
She was a curiosity, even though people were too polite to say it. But it was obvious that Abby was an outsider, not a regular fixture on the social scene in Dallas.
That was his world, and those people were his tribe. For the first time, Jordan was showing her what it was like to be him, a glimpse into his whole life and not just that part of him that took her to nightclubs, his ranch, or out to get ice cream.
“Are you all right, sugah?” He bent slightly to ask her.
She smiled. “I am,” she said softly, squeezing a bit closer to him. Damn! She loved it when he called her “sugah.”
“Let’s go get some air,” he suggested.
“Air is good,” she said, sounding like a cave woman.
More people reached out to Jordan as he led a winding path through the mansion with her closely in tow. But he dismissed them with a curt smile, a nod, and a grunt of something that sounded like “Good seeing you.” Finally, they were outside in the courtyard that was just as crowded as the inside of the mansion, but Jordan took hold of Abby’s hand and searched until he finally found a marble bench hidden behind a giant rosebush on the other side of one of the smaller fountains.
Jordan pulled off his jacket, draped it over Abby’s shoulders. Abby inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of him coming off that tuxedo jacket.
“I must admit,” he began, “you’re holding up better than I expected.”
“Well, you notice I ain’t saying too much.”
“Feeling shy?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Just trying not to embarrass you.”
Jordan knitted his thick brows. “There’s absolutely nothing that you could say or do that would embarrass me, love.”
“Oh, there’s plenty,” she quipped.
“Examples.”
“Well, the governor’s wife?”
“Yes?”
“Terrible calluses on her heels,” Abby said, grimacing. “You’d think that woman would have a standing appointment with a pedicurist seeing as how her husband is head of the state and all. I wanted to pull her aside and recommend a great pumice stone that I found on Amazon that she could use in the privacy of her own home,” she continued. “You know, because maybe she doesn’t like people touching her feet or something.”
He chuckled.
“Some people can be like that, Jordan,” she said in all seriousness. “They don’t like strangers touching them, and I get that.”
“Anything else?”
She thought about it for a moment. There were lots of things. Suddenly, she smiled. “When we met Floyd Dawson, the running back?”
“Did he have calluses on his heels, too?”
“No. But my brother Wesley is a huge fan. I mean big big fan, in a stupid kind of way. My sister-in-law, Eva, told me that he still sleeps in that man’s jersey during football season. Sleeps in it, Jordan. And I was this close”—Abby pinched her thumb and forefinger together—“to asking him for his autograph and telling him about Wesley’s obsession. But if I’d done that and Wes had found out about it, he’d have been so wounded.”
“Yeah, we don’t want to wound Wes.”
“I’ve exercised magnanimous restraint tonight,” she said proudly.
“And I appreciate it.”
“I could walk out of here with a dozen autographs if I set my whole country self loose on these people. But I’m being careful.”
He chuckled.
A man like him could be with any woman he wanted. Abby had caught quite a few of them glaring and rolling their eyes at her, and then looking at him like he was a Texas-size T-bone steak. When the two of them were alone together, he was just Jordan, her handsome, brooding boyfriend who smelled good and made her stomach turn flips every time she locked on to those mysterious dark eyes of his. But when she read about him on the Internet or saw a story about him on the news, it didn’t seem possible that she would even know someone like him.
“You never said anything about my dress,” she said, finally broaching the subject.
She’d hoped that he loved it as much as she loved wearing it, but since he hadn’t mentioned it, Abby prepared herself for the worst.
Jordan’s gaze immediately dropped to her cleavage. Never in a million years did it ever cross her mind that she could wear a spaghetti-strapped dress without a bra and have her titties sitting firm like rocks.
“I’ve hardly been able to keep my eyes off you,” he said admiringly. “I thought that you’d have guessed that not only do I love your dress, sugah, but I love you in the dress.”
Abby smiled and blushed. “Thank you. That’s the answer I was hoping for.”
“No, thank you.”
“For what?”
Those penetrating eyes of his bore into hers, and Abby could literally feel herself melting like a candle all up against him.
“For agreeing to come to this with me. For looking absolutely beautiful in that dress. I’ll start there.”
“It’s not as hard as I thought it would be, actually. Being here, I mean. It’s the fanciest thing I’ve ever been to in my life, and I thought I’d hate it, but it doesn’t suck.”
He cocked a thick brow. “Sounds like my chances for talking you into moving in with me are getting better. Odds moving in my favor?”
He was adorable in his persistence but highly unreasonable. Jordan broached the subject of the two of them living together every chance he got.
“You already know what I’m going to say,” she said softly. “We’ve had this discussion dozens of times and the dialogue never changes.”
“Because you’re being stubborn.”
“Because you and I both know that me moving here would mean giving up my business in Blink. Because we both know that even if I didn’t give it up, I couldn’t run it from Dallas. Because I’m not the type to sit around eating bonbons all day, or lunching with those high-society types, or whatever—while you’re at the office being fabulous and conquering the world.”
He looked unconvinced. In the time that she’d known Jordan, Abby had come to realize a few things about him. Jordan had lived privilege his whole life. He knew absolutely nothing else and wasn’t accustomed to not getting his way.
“You’re here more than you’re in Blink, Abby,” he reminded her. “And it’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to keep up with the two-hour commute each way to see you.”
“But it’s working, Jordan. Right?”
“Like I said,” he concluded, “you’re being stubborn.”
No. She was being realistic. She was being careful.
“I’m not an impulsive person,” she reminded him. “It goes against my nature.”
“It’s not an impulsive request,” he said sincerely. “I am in love for the first time in my life and I want—no, I need—to have you with me, Abby. Preferably all the time. That’s all.”
Good Lord! Was he making her light-headed again? Seemed like the space around her was spinning and she was sitting still. Yes. Abby was definitely caught up in a dizzying moment.
He smiled as if he knew it. “Tell me you’re thinking about it,” he continued. “During the week, we’d stay at the penthouse. I’d be right downstairs in my office, baby. On the weekends, we could go to the ranch. When I traveled, you could come with me.”
Jordan had been practicing his argument. And his offer was becoming more and more tempting. Being away from him for more than a few days was becoming harder. It was always so hard to leave him, and she could never seem to get back to him fast enough. That practical side of her kept rearing her ugly little head, though.
“I swear,” he continued, “I’d spoil you rotten
if you’d just get out of my way and let me.”
Abby had always prided herself on being levelheaded and rational. But for the first time in her life, she sort of hated those personality traits.
“I don’t think I’d know how to let you spoil me, Jordan,” she reluctantly admitted.
“You could start by not telling me no all the time,” he offered. “You could trust me.”
“I do trust you,” she responded quickly.
“With you. With all of you.”
And that’s the part that scared her the most. Jordan wanted her absolutely and completely, accessible and available at all times. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, because she wanted him too, but just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s necessarily good for you. He had big expectations. But Abby wasn’t so sure that she could live up to his expectations or that she really wanted to.
“You’re taking too long to respond,” he finally said. “What does that mean?”
Abby leaned in close and kissed him tenderly on his sexy lips. “It means … I don’t know what it means.”
Jordan sighed and his disappointment was obvious. “I’m not giving up. We’ll have this conversation again,” he said, helping her to her feet. “And again, and again, until I finally wear you down.”
And he was doing just that.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “I’m ready to go make love.”
“’Bout time,” she said without hesitation.
“Good night, Jordan,” Abby shivered and whispered to herself as a warm tear escaped down her cheek.
Day 2
In My Dawn
IT WAS FOUR IN THE MORNING. Jordan had just finished swimming laps in the pool and was physically and emotionally exhausted. Fear was his greatest enemy. It pressed against him like a cement wall, threatening to crush him, but he couldn’t allow it. He pushed back, and would keep on pushing until he held her in his arms. Jordan physically willed his heart to beat slow and steady, taking deep breaths to calm and settle his mind and emotions. Abby had become the sun in the center of his universe, and he would die if her light went out.
He leaned back on the sofa outside on the terrace of his penthouse, staring out over the lights of Dallas.
“Call Wells,” he commanded. His voice-activated communication system immediately dialed the number.
Jordan hadn’t expected that sonofabitch to answer, but this call, like all the others, needed to be made.
“I’m not going away,” he said when the call went to voice mail. “You call me and you tell me something—what you’re doing, where you’ve been, what you’ve seen, what you think you know,” he finished, and took a sip of his coffee. “End call.” The system responded accordingly.
Faces, familiar and unfamiliar, flashed in his mind. That feeling that whoever was behind this wasn’t a stranger nagged at him. Paranoia had him convinced that he was being watched, studied like a cell under a microscope. What were they hoping to see? A crack in his façade, perhaps? Were they waiting to catch a glimpse of him in a weak moment? To someone out there, this was a game.
They knew enough to understand how much she meant to him and that losing her could destroy him. Jordan had affirmed that for them in his response to that picture the woman on the phone had sent him. It was a knee-jerk reaction, a very uncharacteristic one, but it was an honest one. He had no idea if acting as if he didn’t give a damn about some random woman in a photograph would’ve played in his—Abby’s—favor. They might’ve killed her sooner. The question remained, though, how did anyone know that she’d be in Blink that day? Jordan hadn’t even known. Had she been followed?
“Call Phyl.”
She picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, boss,” she said, sounding as if she’d been sleeping.
“Good morning,” he responded unemotionally.
“What’s up?”
“I asked for information on the Dakota Pipeline investors yesterday.”
“Yes. I’ve managed to find out some things, but I’m still looking.”
“Send me what you have.”
“Sure. Now?”
“Please.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “You’ll have it in a few minutes.”
It wasn’t in his nature to wait. Jordan had hired Wells to find Abby, but he wasn’t about to idly sit around on his hands while seconds ticked by on the clock until that happened. Jordan had to find out who was behind this. For his own sake, he had to focus his attention on finding the source. Doing nothing would drive him insane.
He closed his eyes and searched for that wavelength traveling through the air from her to him. They were connected at the soul level, and he should’ve been able to track her down like a bloodhound. But he felt helpless.
They promised she’d be safe, but he didn’t bank on that promise. Abby was bleeding in that picture and if—when—he found her, when he got her back, he’d fucking make them pay for what they’d done. Rage. More than fear, more than anguish, it was rage that flowed through his veins as reckless as fear if he weren’t careful.
Two hours later, Jordan was showered, dressed, and sitting in his office at his computer studying the information that Phyl had e-mailed him. There were no surprises in her report. Jordan already knew of these corporate investors on the project. He had to take a different approach with this information. Which investor would benefit most from his involvement? Who held a grudge against him? Was this about money? Instinctively, he knew that it wasn’t. This was personal. It was about Jordan.
His telecommunication system alerted him to an incoming call from his personal assistant, Phyl Mays.
“This is Jordan,” he said out loud, activating the call.
“Hey, boss,” she said. “Just want to let you know that the helicopter’s ready and Jake will be there to pick you up to take you to the launch pad in half an hour.”
“Thank you.”
Aesop wrote, “We often give our enemies the means of our own destruction.” Had Jordan given them Abby simply by openly showing his love for her? And was it really so obvious that she was his weakness, more than his wife, Claire, had been? More than the last woman he’d openly dated, Robin, had been? Abby was that crack in the armor he’d never believed he’d ever have. And someone else had noticed.
“Mr. Gatewood,” the man said, holding open the car door for him half an hour after he’d spoken to Phyl.
“Jake. How are you?” Jordan responded absently, climbing into the backseat.
“Good, sir. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
He dialed Wells’s number. The call went straight to voice mail, much to Jordan’s irritation. Jordan hung up.
He had a long day ahead of him, beginning in Houston. He had to keep up appearances for an event that he’d committed to months ago, but Jordan would not sit by idly waiting on Wells. If Jordan found her first, that mutha fucka would have to walk away from the arrangement he’d made with Jordan empty-handed.
A Little While Longer
IT WAS MORNING AND THE ROOM was gradually warming a bit, but Abby’s hands and feet still felt like ice. She tried not to think about being back in her own house, in her bed, curled up underneath warm blankets. Or even better, curled up against Jordan’s chest. She tried not to think about that, but when she did, an unexpected and slight smile spread over her lips. Of all the places she could be in the world, that was probably her most favorite. Jordan’s broad shoulders and chest, with his huge arms cocooning her, was heaven on earth for real. The soothing drumbeat of his heart echoed through her even now.
That someone like him could come into her life at all was a miracle. But that’s how she knew that it was meant to be. Abby thought back to the day she first saw him coming into the house she’d just bought.
“I loved you the moment I saw you,” he’d told her a few months back.
“Impossible,” she said. “I did not make myself very lovable that day.”
&nbs
p; He smiled. God! When he smiled … “You may not have, but that did nothing to deter my intentions.”
“Which were…?”
“To make you love me back.”
Abby took a deep breath and renewed her faith in him. She had to, because it was the only thing she had to cling to—that, and finding a way out of this place. She was an engineer, a problem solver. They had her locked in a box, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t find a way out of it. He would find her, and she would meet him at the door when he did. Abby wasn’t used to playing that damsel in distress role. She’d reminded herself of that after she’d finished all that crying at sunrise.
Once again, Abby heard noises from the other side of the door. A key turned in the lock. The door pushed open and it was the woman again. Her first thought was to try to rush her like before, but no. This time, the woman had a gun tucked in the belt around her waist. The woman stepped just inside the doorway, knelt down, and placed the sandwich enclosed in a plastic bag on the floor along with another bottle of water.
“Eat,” she said, slowly standing up.
Abby knew that they’d be more careful because she’d nearly gotten away the first time, but for some reason, she didn’t expect a gun. Guns had a way of dampening the spirit of an escape and Abby had been taught that most people didn’t point guns at people unless they intended to shoot them.
The woman’s hair had been pulled back this time into a braid. And she still had on that mask. Time. Abby needed to calm herself and to take advantage of this time with her. She couldn’t be impatient. She couldn’t be impulsive because her life truly was on the line now.
“I’m not telling you again,” the woman said.
Abby heard a slight shakiness in the woman’s voice. Whoever she was, she was as afraid of Abby as Abby was of her. Abby started to stand up.
“No,” the woman told her. “Stay off your feet,” she warned.
Abby slowly slid across the floor on her behind until she was close enough to reach the sandwich and water. Was she really going to eat this mess? She had to if she wanted to take advantage of this time, this opportunity to look for even a sliver of a chance to get the hell out of here. She stared at the package, flipping it over in her hands until finally she pulled apart the sealed seam, then smelled the contents. Would they try to poison her if they were expecting to be paid money for her return? She twisted off the cap on the bottle, raised it to her nose and smelled that, too.
