Jordan St Claire: Dark and Dangerous

by Carole Mortimer

  Perhaps she had better not think any more about what sort of man Jordan was!

  She especially shouldn’t think about his recent admission that he had just been playing with her earlier on.

  Jordan was seated in the front of the helicopter beside Gideon as they took off. Instinct alone made him glance back at Stephanie, only to realise that she had a death-grip on the arms of her own seat, her short fingernails digging into the leather.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked with concern.

  She didn’t even glance at him but continued to stare straight ahead, her eyes wide in a face that was completely devoid of colour, her jaw clenched as she spoke between gritted teeth. ‘Fine.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Jordan contradicted flatly as he undid his seat-belt. ‘Keep it steady, Gideon,’ he warned as he began to climb into the back.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Stephanie’s expression was one of complete panic as Jordan’s movements redistributed the weight and made the helicopter tilt slightly from side to side.

  ‘Coming to sit next to you,’ Jordan explained patiently as he sat down and buckled himself into the seat. Then he reached out and prised the fingers closest to him from the armrest, before taking Stephanie’s hand firmly into his own. ‘You don’t like flying.’ He stated the obvious.

  ‘Hate it! ‘ she muttered as her fingers tightened painfully about his. ‘No criticism of your capabilities intended, Gideon,’ she added shakily.

  ‘None taken, I assure you,’ he drawled confidently from the front of the aircraft.

  Jordan ignored his brother’s insouciance and concentrated on Stephanie. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me you don’t like flying?’

  She flashed him a green-eyed glare before hastily resuming her death-stare towards the front of the helicopter. ‘I did tell you last night that I wasn’t sure about flying in a helicopter!’

  ‘Not sure and terrified are two distinctly different things!’

  ‘What difference would it have made if I had been more forceful about it?’ she snapped.

  ‘We could have let Gideon fly back on his own and driven down.’

  Stephanie shook her head, and then obviously regretted it as even her lips seemed to go white. ‘You needed to get to London as quickly as possible.’ Her jaw was once again tightly clenched.

  Jordan scowled. ‘If it had been that urgent then we would have flown down last night. You—’

  ‘Leave the girl alone, Jordan,’ Gideon rapped out from the front of the plane. ‘Can’t you see she feels ill?’

  Jordan could see that all too easily. He was furious with himself for not realising how nervous Stephanie was about flying—preferably before the helicopter had taken off!

  His fingers tightened about hers. ‘You’re an idiot for not telling me.’

  ‘Thank you so much for that, Jordan,’ Stephanie snarled back. ‘Comments on my mental state are just what I want to hear when I’m hanging hundreds of feet from the ground in a helicopter that looks as if a brisk wind might blow it out of the sky!’

  Gideon chuckled softly in the pilot seat. ‘No need to worry, Stephanie. The accident record in this type of helicopter is minimal, I assure you.’

  ‘Minimal, maybe,’ she gritted out through her teeth. ‘But not non-existent.’

  ‘I suggest you keep any more helpful information like that to yourself, Gid,’ Jordan said.

  ‘I could always turn back—’

  ‘No!’ Stephanie shuddered at the mere thought of Gideon turning the helicopter, let alone landing it on the helipad behind Mulberry Hall.

  ‘But if this really is a problem for you, Stephanie …?’ Jordan frowned, clearly not happy.

  ‘We’re in the air now,’ she said tautly, her fingers curled so tightly about Jordan’s that she was sure she must be cutting off the blood supply to his own fingers. ‘I’ll just make a mental note to myself to never, ever fly in a helicopter again!’

  Stephanie was grateful for having Jordan’s hand to hold during the rest of the flight, but even so, by the time they landed at the private airfield a few miles outside London, where the St Claire helicopter was obviously parked when not in use, she was aching from head to toe from the pure tension of just getting through the flight. Even her teeth ached as she staggered thankfully down onto the tarmac and all but fell into the chauffeur-driven car that was waiting for them to arrive.

  ‘All right now?’ Jordan prompted gently as he climbed into the back beside her, while Gideon sat in the front with the chauffeur, the glass partition raised to give them privacy.

  Stephanie dropped her head back onto the leather seat beside him, some of the colour thankfully returning to her cheeks as she swallowed before answering. ‘That was the most terrifying experience of my life.’

  Jordan gave a mocking grin. ‘You have yet to share a house with the whole of the St Claire clan.’

  Stephanie had shared a house with Jordan for the past few days, and that had been traumatic enough!

  Although he looked most unlike the unkempt man she had spent those two days with. When he’d appeared in the kitchen earlier this morning his long hair had been washed and brushed back from his face in silky dark waves, his jaw freshly shaven, once again revealing that fascinating—and sexy!—dimple in the centre of his chin, and he was wearing a pale brown cashmere sweater over a cream-coloured shirt and tailored brown trousers with brown shoes.

  Today he looked every inch the charismatic actor Jordan Simpson—which was probably the whole point of the exercise, when he was about to see the mother the three St Claire men so obviously all adored.

  Stephanie certainly felt decidedly underdressed in the company of the handsome St Claire twins, wearing her normal jeans and a white T-shirt beneath a short black jacket. Their arrival at St Claire House in Mayfair only confirmed her rapidly growing impression—after the grandeur of the Mulberry Hall estate and then flying around in a private helicopter—that she was completely out of her depth with this family. The townhouse itself was absolutely enormous: four storeys high, with a painted cream façade.

  A stiffly formal butler opened the door to admit the three of them into the cavernous entrance hall.

  ‘Mr St Claire is in his study, and Her—Mrs St Claire is upstairs in her suite, resting,’ the grey-haired man politely answered Jordan’s query.

  ‘I’ll leave Lucan to you while I go up and see Mother,’ Jordan informed Gideon, and he took a firm hold on Stephanie’s elbow.

  ‘Thanks,’ his twin accepted dryly. ‘No doubt I’ll see you later, Stephanie.’ He quirked quizzical blond brows at her.

  ‘No doubt,’ she answered distractedly.

  ‘A tray of tea things upstairs for Miss McKinley, if you please, Parker,’ Jordan instructed the butler, before putting a hand beneath Stephanie’s elbow and escorting her to the back of the hallway, to open the two carved oak doors there and reveal a lift. ‘My grandmother had arthritis, and had it installed fifty years ago so that she could still go upstairs,’ he explained as they stepped inside the spacious mirror-walled lift.

  Of course she had, Stephanie accepted ruefully; obviously the St Claire family was wealthy enough to do anything it chose.

  Jordan easily read the look on her face as she stood against the opposite wall of the lift. ‘Don’t let all the grandeur of Mulberry Hall and here fool you—normally none of us step foot in either of these houses.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’ She frowned her curiosity.

  It was a curiosity Jordan had no intention of satisfying. St Claire House, like Mulberry Hall, was part of the Duke of Stourbridge’s estate, and they were all only here now because their mother, still the Duchess of Stourbridge despite the divorce, always stayed at St Claire House on the rare occasions she came down to London.

  ‘We’re all too busy doing other things,’ Jordan dismissed evasively as he stepped out into the thick carpeted hallway on the third floor. ‘I’ll make you comfortable in my suite before I go and see my mother.’
/>   ‘Your … suite?’ Stephanie echoed hesitantly.

  ‘All the family have their own suite of rooms here.’ Jordan gave a brief smile at she hung back uncertainly. ‘Parker will bring you tea in my private sitting room. I expect the bedroom adjoining that has been prepared for your use. Is that going to be a problem?’

  Stephanie had no idea—was it? It felt a little too intimate to have him next door. Entirely too close to him for comfort, in fact!

  ‘I would be quite happy with something a little less. grand.’ She frowned her discomfort.

  ‘There isn’t anything less grand,’ Jordan informed her dryly as he opened a door to the left of the hallway. ‘Come on, Stephanie,’ he encouraged impatiently. ‘I’d like to see you settled before I go and visit my mother.’

  She was being ridiculous, Stephanie knew as she followed Jordan reluctantly. It just felt so very strange to be here with him and his family, in this grand house they rarely visited, but which was still run by what was no doubt an army of servants.

  Who lived like this nowadays?

  Only the very rich and the titled. Although not even too many titled families managed to live in such luxury nowadays, either, years of savage inheritance taxes having depleted their ranks and fortunes drastically.

  The sitting-room, decorated in subtle tones of brown and cream, and furnished with heavy dark furniture, was very much in keeping with the luxury of the rest of this London townhouse.

  ‘There are some books over there if you feel like reading.’ Jordan indicated the shelves at the back of the room. ‘My bedroom and bathroom are through there.’ He pointed to a door to the right. ‘And your own bedroom is through there.’ He pointed to another door to the left.

  Far, far too close for comfort, she recognised with a pained wince.

  ‘Cheer up, Stephanie,’ Jordan drawled as he saw the expression on her face. ‘With any luck we can both be out of here in a matter of days.’

  Days?

  It was the nights that bothered her!

  How was she supposed to sleep here when she knew that Jordan’s bedroom was only feet away? Knew that the two of them were cosily ensconced in the complete privacy of his suite?

  ‘Stop looking so worried.’ Jordan leant his cane against the plush brown sofa before slowly crossing the room until he stood only inches away from her. He placed a gentle hand beneath her chin and raised her face up to his. ‘I’ll try to ensure this is as short a stay as possible.’

  It had already been too long as far as Stephanie was concerned!

  Jordan grimaced. ‘Wish me luck, hmm? I’m about to put on the performance of my life,’ he added ruefully.

  Stephanie felt slightly breathless as she looked up searchingly into that rakishly handsome face, his close proximity having once again unnerved her. ‘You want your mother to believe you’re already completely recovered.’ she realised slowly.

  ‘I’m going to try to convince her of that, yes.’ He shrugged. ‘It’ll be one less thing for her to worry about.’

  ‘You aren’t going to do anything that could hinder your progress, are you?’

  Jordan sighed. ‘Ever the physiotherapist, Stephanie?’

  ‘That’s probably because I am a physiotherapist!’ she defended hotly.

  Although her traitorous body certainly had other ideas. Every part of her—every muscle, sinew and nerve-ending—was totally aware of Jordan as a man rather than as a patient. Of that hand still cupping her chin. Of the warmth of Jordan’s body as he stood so close to her. Of the sensuality in his warm amber-coloured gaze as it moved slowly across her slightly parted lips. The soft caress of his breath against her cheeks as his head began to lower towards hers.

  Stephanie stepped back abruptly as she realised Jordan intended kissing her. ‘That is definitely not a good idea,’ she stated firmly.

  Only just in time too, as a faint knock sounded on the outer door, announcing the entry of the butler with the tray of tea things Jordan had requested.

  ‘I’ll probably have lunch with my mother, but I’m sure Parker will bring you something up on a tray …’ Jordan looked expectantly at the butler as he straightened from placing the silver tray down on the low table in front of the sofa.

  ‘I would be happy to do so, Miss McKinley,’ the butler replied, before Stephanie even had chance to object to being waited on in this way.

  She looked across at Jordan. ‘That really isn’t necessary …’

  ‘Just do it, Stephanie,’ Jordan said distractedly, and he left the suite, his thoughts obviously already with his mother.

  Her own thoughts were in total disarray as Parker continued to treat her as if she were a guest, rather than just another employee, informing her that her bag had been safely delivered to the adjoining bedroom.

  Stephanie felt totally out of place in this world of wealth and privilege that Jordan and his brothers seemed to take so much for granted. She was even less happy at being here when she remembered that she would have to telephone Joey and tell her she was now back in London if her sister needed to talk to her about the divorce case.

  CHAPTER NINE

  STEPHANIE felt slightly better once she had finished drinking the pot of Earl Grey tea and eaten a couple of biscuits to settle her stomach after the helicopter flight. In fact, she felt so much better that she must have dozed off for a while, because the next thing she knew Parker had returned with her lunch tray.

  But the queasiness returned with a vengeance once Stephanie had eaten the delicious pasta dish and a bowl of fresh fruit and then dared to venture into the adjoining bedroom that Jordan had said was to be hers for the duration of her stay. It was a room dominated by a huge four-poster bed draped in the same gold brocade as the chair-covers and the curtains hanging at the long picture windows, which looked out onto the meticulously kept garden at the back of the house.

  It was undoubtedly a beautiful room. The gold carpet was thick and luxurious, the walls papered in a pale cream silk, the light wood furniture Regency style—and no doubt, as with Mulberry Hall, all genuine antiques. The equally luxurious en-suite bathroom was of cream and gold-coloured marble, with gold fixtures and several thick cream towels warming on the stand beside the slightly sunken bath.

  It was all very beautiful—and totally unsuitable for someone who was, after all, just an employee.

  Stephanie left her bag unpacked on one of the brocade-covered chairs and hastily backed out of that luxurious bedroom. As soon as Jordan returned from visiting his mother she would have to tell him that she couldn’t stay here. That if he was really serious about wanting her professional help then she would prefer to go back to her own flat and simply visit him here every day.

  In the meantime, grounding herself by chatting to Joey sounded like an excellent idea.

  ‘Has Jordan Simpson tried to seduce you into his bed yet?’ Joey questioned avidly, as soon as Stephanie’s call had been put through to her office.

  Not into his bed, no. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Joey,’ she dismissed briskly.

  ‘And I had such high hopes, too!’

  ‘High hopes of what?’ Stephanie asked.

  ‘Of you not continuing to live the life of a nun!’

  ‘According to Rosalind Newman, I don’t.’

  ‘She’s just a vindictive woman!’ The scowl could be heard in Joey’s voice.

  Stephanie sighed. ‘How are things going with the divorce case?’

  ‘Nothing new, I’m afraid.’ Her sister became her usual businesslike self. ‘Rosalind Newman is still insisting you had an affair with her husband, and Richard Newman is doing nothing to help the situation. It could get very messy, I’m afraid, Stephs,’ she added regretfully.

  Exactly what Stephanie was trying to avoid. ‘Perhaps if we all met up and talked about it?’

  ‘Not a good idea,’ Joey advised. ‘Even if all three lawyers were there representing their clients, it would still likely end up in a slanging match.’

  On a practical level Steph
anie already knew that. She just didn’t know what else she could do to convince Rosalind Newman that she was being delusional about Stephanie’s personal involvement with her husband. It was complicated by the fact that Stephanie was convinced Richard Newman’s lack of support was because he was involved in an affair with another woman, and he’d rather Stephanie’s name was blackened than his actual mistress’s.

  ‘Just do your best to keep my name out of it, Joey,’ Stephanie said heavily.

  ‘And you try and come up with something more interesting to tell me the next time you call,’ her sister encouraged teasingly.

  ‘By “interesting” I take it you mean sexual?’ Stephanie came back dryly.

  ‘You’re with Jordan Simpson, sis,’ Joey said impatiently. ‘The man you’ve lusted after for years!’

  The man she still lusted after, Stephanie thought. ‘He isn’t at all like I imagined he would be.’ He was so much more than she had expected, she admitted privately—a man who was drawing on every ounce of strength he had to get him through the worst moments of what she knew were excruciating agony.

  ‘In what way?’ Joey prompted curiously. ‘Surely you aren’t holding it against him because he’s behaving less like a movie star and more like a man who fell off the top of a building six months ago? Because if you are, then I hate to tell you this, Stephs, but the man did fall off a building six months ago!’

  ‘No, I’m not holding that against him.’ Stephanie chuckled wryly; she could always rely on Joey to make her laugh. ‘Joey.’ She deliberately lowered her voice. ‘You know those interviews he gives, where he mentions his parents’ divorce as being the reason he’s never married?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘Well, he’s really serious about it.’ She drew in a ragged breath. ‘Which means—’

  ‘He wouldn’t be too happy if he were to learn that the physiotherapist his brother hired is up to her ears in another couple’s divorce?’ Joey finished, with her usual bluntness.