Jordan St Claire: Dark and Dangerous

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘I suggest you invite me inside, Stephanie, before you end up with an unconscious man on your doorstep,’ Jordan warned her suddenly.

  Stephanie kept the door half-closed as she looked at Jordan searchingly, noting the strain beside his eyes and mouth, and the slight pallor of his cheeks beneath his tan. ‘How did your mother’s appointment with the specialist go this morning?’ She was concerned for the other woman, in spite of knowing that she wouldn’t be having anything further to do with any of the St Claire family members.

  Jordan had made it more than obvious from his remarks yesterday that what had happened between the two of them had meant nothing more to him than a reaffirmation of physical desire.

  Just as Stephanie knew it had meant everything to her.

  She had long been infatuated by Jordan Simpson. In lust with him, even, as she’d gazed at him wistfully on the big and small screen. But in the past few days she had fallen completely in love with Jordan St Claire. Quite how it had happened Stephanie had no idea, when he had been either rude or inappropriately over-familiar since the moment they’d first met. She only knew that she was in love with the man she had made love with yesterday. Totally. Irrevocably.

  Unfortunately, the wealthy and privileged Jordan St Claire was as unlikely to fall in love with someone like her as Jordan Simpson was …

  ‘Jord—’ She broke off with a nervy start as the telephone began to ring in her flat.

  The disturbing hang-up calls that had been part of Stephanie’s reason for wanting to leave London had resumed first thing this morning. Four so far. Stephanie had answered the first two, only to have the line abruptly disconnected.

  It wasn’t difficult to know who was making those calls, and Stephanie had called Joey and asked her to use her legal influence with the telephone company and get her a new number as soon as possible.

  Too late, Stephanie realised she should have taken the receiver off the hook while she was waiting for that new number!

  Jordan quirked dark brows. ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’

  Stephanie gave a tense shrug. ‘They’ll call back if it’s anything important.’

  ‘If you let me in and answer the call then they won’t need to call back,’ he reasoned lightly.

  Stephanie frowned her irritation. ‘We have nothing to say to each other, Jordan—’

  ‘You may not have anything to say to me,’ he accepted grimly, ‘but I certainly have a few things I want to say to you.’ He didn’t wait for Stephanie to open the door further, but instead pushed against it with his cane and walked into the flat, leaving her to close the door behind him.

  At least the telephone had stopped ringing by the time she’d followed Jordan through to her sitting room. ‘Well?’ Stephanie prompted guardedly as she watched him drop down wearily into one of the armchairs.

  His hair was as wild and windblown as ever, but he had shaved at least, and was wearing a tailored black jacket over a white shirt and faded jeans.

  Jordan didn’t answer her immediately, but instead looked around the sitting room. He liked the simplicity of the warm cream walls, adorned with several Turner prints of Venice. There were three colourful rugs on the polished wood floor, and the only furniture was a wide-screen television set, a low coffee table, a comfortable terracotta-coloured sofa, and two armchairs covered in numerous cushions. Despite the simplicity of the décor, Jordan found the room as warm and inviting as Stephanie was herself.

  Although Jordan had to admit she didn’t look very inviting at the moment, as she glared down at him!

  He answered her earlier question evenly. ‘Tests showed my mother’s tumour to be benign.’

  ‘That must be a relief for all of you!’ Stephanie spoke with her first genuine warmth since she had opened the knock on the door and found Jordan standing outside.

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded tersely, eyes narrowed. ‘Stephanie, why did you leave without saying goodbye?’

  She clasped her hands tightly together so that he shouldn’t see how they were shaking. ‘I did what I thought was best.’

  ‘For whom?’

  ‘For me, actually,’ she said honestly. ‘For you too, of course. It would just have been awkward for everyone if I had stayed on at St Claire House after what happened between us yesterday.’

  Jordan raised dark brows. ‘I don’t embarrass that easily.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ Stephanie said. ‘When I went downstairs Lucan came out of his study to tell me my car had been delivered from Gloucestershire. I explained to him then that I didn’t feel I could do anything to help you. He seemed happy with my decision to leave,’ she said firmly.

  ‘I’m not happy with your decision!’ Jordan barked.

  Her chin rose defensively. ‘No? Well. You’re probably just a little … irritated with me at the moment. But you’ll get over it.’

  ‘I’m upset, Stephanie, not irritated!’ he corrected. ‘We need to talk, and you left before we had a chance to do that.’ He sat forward tensely.

  ‘Because I have nothing else to say to you—’ Stephanie broke off as the telephone began to ring again. She should definitely have taken the receiver off the hook. And she would have done so if she hadn’t been waiting for the telephone company to ring her and tell her about her new number. It might even be them ringing now. But with Jordan present Stephanie didn’t feel inclined to answer the call only to discover that it was Rosalind Newman making a nuisance of herself again.

  Stephanie felt for the other woman, she really did, but that didn’t make it any easier for her to be the fixation of the other woman’s obsessive jealousy.

  Jordan eyed her impatiently as she ignored the call. ‘If you won’t answer that, then I will!’ He reached out for the receiver.

  ‘No—’ Stephanie gave up her effort to prevent him from answering the call as Jordan placed the receiver to his ear.

  ‘Stephanie McKinley’s residence.’ Jordan spoke pleasantly into the receiver as he eyed Stephanie mockingly. ‘Hello?’ He frowned. ‘Hello!’ he repeated sharply, a dark frown now marring his brow. ‘What the hell—?’ He held the receiver away from his ear before slowly replacing it on the cradle and turning back to Stephanie, brows raised questioningly.

  She moistened dry lips, knowing from Jordan’s expression that this fifth call had to have ended as abruptly as the previous four. ‘I—I seem to have a crank caller at the moment,’ she dismissed, her gaze not quite meeting Jordan’s probing one. ‘The telephone company has been informed, and they’re organising a new number for me.’

  ‘Why not the police? And how long is “at the moment”?’ Jordan asked slowly.

  ‘The police are far too busy for me to worry them about some idiot making a nuisance of themselves on the telephone,’ Stephanie said hurriedly. ‘It’s been happening for a couple of weeks now. It’s just been especially annoying this morning.’ Probably because she hadn’t been there to answer the calls for the past three days!

  ‘A couple of weeks or so?’ Jordan repeated incredulously as he stood up. ‘Some nut has been harassing you like this for weeks, and you’ve only now decided to do anything about it? Your sister is a lawyer—why didn’t you get her to do something about them before now?’

  Because Stephanie hadn’t mentioned the calls to Joey originally—had been stupid enough to hope that Rosalind would stop before either the law or the police needed to be involved!

  ‘She’s doing something about it now.’

  ‘Not soon enough, by the state of your nerves!’

  Stephanie moved away restlessly. ‘They’re just hang up calls, Jordan. She—They’ll get tired of it eventually and stop.’

  ‘She?’ Jordan pounced shrewdly.

  ‘He. She.’ Stephanie frowned her exasperation with his astuteness in picking up on every word she said. ‘What does it matter what sex they are?’

  ‘It doesn’t,’ Jordan said. ‘Unless you know who’s making the calls?’

  ‘And why do you suppose I would know that?�
��

  ‘You tell me,’ Jordan said.

  He had been absolutely furious last night, when he’d discovered that Stephanie had left St Claire House without so much as telling him. So furious that he had decided it would be better to delay coming here to see her until today, giving a chance for that anger to subside overnight. A few minutes in her company and he knew that twelve hours’ delay had been a complete waste of his time!

  ‘Stephanie!’ he prompted harshly.

  She clasped her hands even more tightly together as she scowled at him. ‘It’s none of your business, Jordan.’

  ‘I’m making it my business,’ he said.

  Stephanie shook her head. ‘You don’t have the right to come here and demand to know about my private life.’

  ‘By taking my body into yours you’ve given me that right,’ he said outrageously.

  Colour warmed her cheeks and she gasped. ‘That was completely uncalled for, Jordan!’

  Jordan threw his cane down on the sofa to reach out and grasp the tops of her arms. ‘As your leaving yesterday without saying goodbye to me was completely uncalled for!’ He glowered down at her. ‘How do you think that made me feel, Stephanie?’ His voice gentled. ‘I know that you were upset last night, but that still doesn’t excuse just walking out on me like that without any explanation.’

  ‘The fact that I did leave should have been explanation enough,’ she said exasperatedly.

  Jordan released her, to take a halting step backwards, his face pale. ‘It was your way of telling me you would prefer that our relationship not continue?’

  ‘We don’t have a relationship, Jordan,’ Stephanie said emotionally. ‘You said from the beginning that you were only playing with me—’

  ‘What’s your excuse?’ he rasped harshly. ‘Is it still this guy Richard?’

  ‘I’ve told you that it isn’t!’ she insisted vehemently.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘You’re Jordan Simpson!’ she snapped.

  He eyed her warily. ‘So?’

  ‘So I’ve had a thing about you for years!’

  ‘A thing?’ Jordan repeated softly.

  ‘A thing,’ Stephanie repeated uncomfortably. ‘Look at my DVD collection, Jordan.’ She pointed to the cabinet next to the wide-screen television set. ‘I have bought every film you’ve ever made. But not before I dragged my sister to the cinema to see every one of them first. My idea of an enjoyable evening at home is to put on one of your movies and sit and drool over you for a couple of hours!’

  A nerve pulsed in Jordan’s tightly clenched jaw. ‘So this thing you have is only for Jordan Simpson?’

  No, of course it wasn’t! Stephanie’s infatuation, maybe. But it was Jordan St Claire she had fallen in love with. A man as unlike the suavely charming and sophisticated screen image of Jordan Simpson as it was possible to for him to be.

  Something Stephanie had no intention of ever admitting, least of all to Jordan himself!

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed flatly. ‘I’m sorry, Jordan.’ She winced as she saw the way his expression had darkened ominously. ‘I just—I did try not to get personally involved with you. I told you that it wasn’t a good idea. But you’ve always been this fantasy to me, you see, and so when I found myself in bed with you yesterday—’

  ‘You don’t need to say any more,’ he rasped harshly, those gold-coloured eyes as hard as the metal they resembled. He looked absolutely livid. ‘I somehow never imagined you as a movie-star groupie—’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ she cut in indignantly.

  ‘I would,’ he bit out frigidly. ‘A pity for you that we’ve met when I’m obviously looking and feeling less than my best,’ he added contemptuously as he bent to pick up his cane. ‘I obviously didn’t come even close to living up to the fantasy!’

  Stephanie hated this conversation. Hated it!

  She loved this man. Not Jordan Simpson. Not even Jordan St Claire. But the man standing in front of her right now. The man who in Gloucestershire had still been able to tease despite the fact that he was in constant pain. The man who had made love with her yesterday with a fierce heat she was never going to be able to forget. That she never wanted to forget. Just as she knew she never wanted to forget Jordan.

  She wished things could be different. Wished that she could explain about Richard Newman to Jordan—that she could tell him the truth and that he would tell her he believed her. That he loved her too. But Jordan didn’t love her, and he never would. After all, he had only made love with her to prove he could still desire a woman that way.

  Which left Stephanie with no alternative but to try and salvage as much of her pride as she could. ‘I don’t have any complaints.’ She shrugged.

  Jordan’s mouth compressed as he looked at her challengingly. ‘Neither do I.’

  Stephanie felt the warmth of colour in her cheeks. ‘Then—’ She broke off with a frown as the doorbell rang. ‘That could be someone from the telephone company.’

  ‘I don’t think they usually make house-calls in order to change a number,’ Jordan said.

  Neither did Stephanie. Which was why she was reluctant to actually go and open the door.

  Jordan found he was even more angry now than he had been the previous evening! Angry and disappointed that Stephanie was obviously as enamoured of his screen image as so many of the other women he’d met, rather than being attracted to the man he actually was.

  He had dreamed of becoming a professional actor from the time he’d starred in a school play at the age of eleven. Had chosen to go to drama school rather than university. Done several years of stage work in England before being offered a film role in America ten years ago.

  He enjoyed the success he had made of his career. Enjoyed the lifestyle it gave him. The celebrity status. But one of the drawbacks had always been that women were attracted to Jordan Simpson rather than Jordan St Claire, and unfortunately Stephanie was no exception.

  He sighed heavily. ‘It’s time I was leaving—’ He frowned as the doorbell rang again—longer this time, and somehow more insistent. ‘Shouldn’t you go and see who that is?’ he asked, as Stephanie continued to ignore this second, much longer ring of the doorbell.

  ‘I thought you said it was important that we finish our conversation?’

  Jordan studied her through narrowed lids, once again noting that pallor to her cheeks and the wariness of her gaze. ‘As far as I’m aware, it’s finished.’

  She gave him a bright, meaningless smile. ‘I’m not in the mood for more visitors this morning.’

  Jordan scowled at her obvious reluctance to answer the door. ‘Stephanie, what the hell is going on here?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she denied hastily.

  His scowl deepened. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you—’

  ‘You’re right, you don’t,’ Jordan said as he turned to walk haltingly towards the door of the flat. ‘Maybe your visitor will be a little more forthcoming?’

  ‘No, Jordan—’

  Jordan had wrenched the door open before Stephanie had fully realised his intention, frowning as he looked at the woman who stood outside in the hallway.

  From Stephanie’s evasive behaviour he had expected that her visitor would be a man. Perhaps this Richard he’d wanted to know about.

  But the woman standing in the hallway was tall and blonde, probably aged in her mid-thirties, and the angry glitter of her blue eyes as she looked past Jordan to glare at Stephanie seemed to indicate that she was feeling less than friendly towards her!

  Those blue eyes flicked scornfully over Jordan, before moving down to his cane. ‘Another one, Stephanie?’ the woman said insultingly.

  ‘I—’

  ‘Another what?’ Jordan asked in a steely voice.

  ‘Perhaps you aren’t aware of it, but Stephanie makes a habit of having affairs with her patients,’ the woman said. ‘First my husband, and now you!’

  Th
is had to be Stephanie’s worst nightmare!

  Having Rosalind Newman arrive on her doorstep at all was bad enough, but having her make these awful accusations in front of Jordan was even worse.

  She took a step forward. ‘Rosalind, you aren’t well—’

  ‘I’m perfectly well, thank you!’ the older woman snapped contemptuously.

  The last few months of the emotional turmoil of her disintegrating marriage had not been kind to Rosalind; she was much too thin, and her face was much harder, older, than when Stephanie had first met her three months ago.

  ‘Or as well as I can be after you stole my husband from me!’ Rosalind spat out. ‘Does Richard know about him?’ She glared at Jordan.

  Stephanie couldn’t even look at Jordan to see what he was making of this conversation. She stepped around him so that she could confront Rosalind. Although he could hardly have been left in any doubt as to exactly what Rosalind was accusing her of! ‘There’s nothing to know, Rosalind,’ she said soothingly. ‘And even if there was it would be none of Richard’s business. For the last time—I’m not and I never have been involved in an affair with your husband. He was my patient, yes, but that was the extent of our relationship.’

  Blue eyes narrowed viciously. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘I know you don’t.’ Stephanie sighed heavily. ‘And I’m really sorry that you don’t. But that doesn’t make it any less the truth.’

  Rosalind raised her hands, her fingers curled like talons about to strike. ‘You’re nothing but a marriage-wrecking little—’

  ‘I think not!’ Jordan raised his cane to fend off the attack of those fingers as the woman would have reached out and raked her nails down Stephanie’s face. ‘Go home,’ he told the other woman firmly as he stepped protectively in front of an obviously shaken Stephanie.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet—’

  ‘Oh, yes, you have,’ Jordan said. ‘And if you want to know who wrecked your marriage then I suggest you try looking in a mirror,’ he added bluntly.

  ‘How dare you—?’ The woman broke off abruptly as she seemed to look at him for the first time. ‘Do I know you?’