by J. D. Mason
Robin Sinclair was gorgeous as usual. Jordan waited and watched in awe as the tall, lithe, elegant woman glided across a crowded room, her eyes fixed on his while she made her way over to him. She’d been poured into that red dress. A deep and dangerous V neckline barely held her breasts in place. The slit exposing one of those long legs of hers ended midway on her thigh. And when she leaned in to kiss his cheek, Jordan pressed his hand against bare skin low on her hip.
She was extraordinary in every way. He glanced over her shoulder, staring back at men in the room staring at her. Robin was the ultimate trophy. For a man like him, she was the perfect match. All of them envied him, as they should, because he would be the one leaving with her tonight.
“You look breathtaking, as usual,” he whispered, ogling her.
She fingered his lapel. “So do you, baby. As always. I love you in Armani.”
Of the two of them, it was Robin who was really the star, charming and engaging. She knew the script well, laughing at the right jokes, remembering everyone’s names. Always with an anecdote to offer, entertaining and personable to whoever it was she was speaking to. Jordan stood over her like a brooding gargoyle, doing his damnedest to pay attention, to at least try to appear that he was interested in what was being said, and when he failed, which was often, she came to his rescue with some excuse usually related to all the late hours and weekends he put in at the office or some silly shit like that.
When it came time to sit down for dinner, once again, Robin commanded the attention of everyone at the table. All eyes and ears were on her, the consummate social butterfly. She reveled in this circus. Robin had come from money. Her parents had been wealthy, like Jordan’s, and this world really was all she knew. Privilege. But of course, that’s all that ever showed up at these events.
Three days ago, he’d had the most restful and satisfying sleep of his life, in a tiny bed in Blink, Texas, holding the soft, warm body of a petite and shapely woman in his arms. And Jordan longed to be there again.
“Are you all right, Jordan?” Robin asked, whispering in his ear at the dinner table. “You seem preoccupied.”
A woman like her deserved so much more than he was willing to give her right now.
He smiled. “Just tired,” he told her.
Robin leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his lips, which caught him by surprise. She looked at him until he satisfied her with some kind of a response, a curt smile.
“We don’t have to stay the whole evening,” she told him, staring seductively into his eyes. “In fact, I’d rather not.”
She wasn’t the one he wanted. And Jordan had no right to shortchange her like this. She had been sweet and patient with him, and he’d tried to be direct from the beginning that he was not interested in pursuing anything more serious than a casual relationship. He’d thought he’d made it clear, but more and more, Robin seemed to be pushing another type of agenda onto this relationship. He wasn’t being fair to her, and he was standing in the way of someone else who could be.
This was and it wasn’t about Abby. Jordan had no idea where or even if that relationship had a future. The two of them came from very different worlds and lived very different lifestyles, and he had no indication that either of those worlds and lives would ever mix. More than being about another woman, this was about Jordan trying to do the right thing where a woman was concerned, for once in his life. He’d ruined Claire. Now he had to be more careful than ever not to ruin someone else.
* * *
Two hours later, Robin had Jordan by the hand, leading him into her hotel suite. After he’d closed the door behind him, she tossed her handbag on a chair, turned to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Okay, cowboy. Now that that’s finally over, why don’t you peel me out of this dress and have your way with me?”
He smiled affectionately at her. “Be still my heart.”
“No, it doesn’t have to be still.” Robin pressed her sensuous body against his.
She was so very tempting and willing.
He kissed her forehead. “It’s time for me to go, sweetheart.”
Her disappointment wasn’t immediate. It was as if she paused momentarily for the punch line before realizing that he meant it.
“Why on earth would you leave, Jordan?” she asked, staring up at him, hoping that he was teasing.
More affection, time. More attention. Robin wanted more of him, and Jordan honestly didn’t have it to give, at least, not to her.
Maybe he’d get lucky, and by the time he’d finished saying what needed to be said, Robin would casually wave him off like he never mattered. Or perhaps she’d get angry, curse him, and throw something at him on his way out.
“I think we need to stop seeing each other,” he said as quickly, clearly, and compassionately as he knew how.
She looked as if he’d blindsided her, but that couldn’t have been true. Jordan had been gradually putting more distance between them on purpose these last few weeks. A part of her had to know what was coming.
“I haven’t been able to dedicate much time to you and this relationship, Robin.”
“But I understand that,” she immediately responded, taking a step back from him. “There’s a lot going on right now, Jordan. I get it.”
“And it’s not fair to you.”
He resisted the urge to tell her that he’d met someone else. Telling her that would be a slap in the face. But it would also be putting the cart before the horse. He had no idea what the future might hold for him and Abby, if anything at all. But she held the place in his thoughts, in his heart, that Robin wanted to hold. He couldn’t say that, though.
“I’m a big girl, Jordan,” she said boldly. “I admit, at first I was fine with the idea of a casual relationship with you. It was easy, and there was no pressure. I’m a grown woman. I knew that I could handle it,” she explained.
“Then how come I get the feeling that casual is no longer acceptable?” he challenged.
Robin blinked.
“How come I get the feeling that you want more?”
Had he been wrong? Had Jordan thought so highly of himself that he’d misread this woman and believed that she felt more for him than he’d come to believe?
“Because it’s true,” she finally admitted.
He’d hurt her more than he’d ever feared he would.
“I love you, Jordan. I didn’t mean to fall in love. I didn’t try, but it happened. We’re perfect together. You have to know it, too,” she said earnestly. Robin motioned to the door. “Those people at that banquet know it. They saw it tonight, how we interact, and how we are together, like two pieces of a puzzle—we create such a beautiful picture together.”
She was right. Robin was the kind of queen that everyone expected Jordan to be with. Hell, a year ago, he’d have expected it. He’d have embraced it. She was a perfect follow-up to his perfect dead wife, Claire. Robin was the sequel.
“I know that you don’t love me,” she continued as tears began to flow. She paused, waiting and hoping for him to assure her that she was wrong. “But you could,” she continued when he didn’t. “I know this. You’re still wounded by Claire’s death and by what happened to you with your mother. Trusting love again is hard for you, and I understand that. But I’m willing to wait and give you the time you need to work through those things.”
“And what if I never do?” he asked.
Robin believed that she’d psychoanalyzed his ass, and she didn’t sound too far off the mark, if he were being honest with himself; however, he already knew that she wasn’t his remedy. The last thing he wanted to do was to be cruel and say that to her, but it was the truth. Robin was status quo in Jordan’s world. She was a cutout of his wife who believed that Jordan would someday miraculously love her, too. And he tried. And he failed. And she died because of it.
“You can trust me,” Robin argued. “All I want is to be here for you.”
“Stop it, Robin,” he argued, hoping to help her to salva
ge some of her dignity. “A woman like you should never have to beg a man for his time and attention. You’re too beautiful and intelligent for that.”
“But I’m not beautiful enough or intelligent enough for you?” she snapped.
Now she was getting angry. Good. She needed to get angry at him. She needed to hate him, for his sake and for hers.
“I’ll understand if you choose to leave the company,” he eventually said. “The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable, Jordan?” she asked bitterly. Robin shook her head in dismay. “That’s the understatement of the year. I am more than uncomfortable. How about humiliated? Destroyed? Distraught?”
What else could he say? It was over between them, and Jordan was almost ashamed at how relieved he felt. He’d never meant to hurt her and he was ashamed of that, too. Jordan turned and started walking toward the door before stopping and turning to her one last time. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I truly am.”
“Why don’t you shove sweetheart up your ass?”
Atta girl, he thought, proud of her for standing up and being the queen that she was as he left.
If I Have to Take a Part
THE ROBIN SINCLAIRS OF THE world didn’t cry over selfish bastards like Jordan Gatewood. They didn’t ask themselves questions like, What did I do wrong?, What could I have done differently?, Was I not attentive enough or beautiful enough?, How did I fail him?, Was I too needy or clingy?, or, Was I too passive? But that’s exactly what she did after he left. Being dumped was foreign territory for a woman like her.
She’d stripped out of her dress and sat on the sofa filling her stomach with glass after glass of chilled Belvedere she’d ordered from room service. If she was drunk, she didn’t notice. Robin was too hurt to be drunk, too bitter, full of regret and disbelief. It didn’t seem real that he had said those things. For her whole life, it had always come down to a matter of choice in the man that she would marry and spend the rest of her life with. She had had her pick of the litter—other successful businessmen, scholars, and artists, all bent on wooing her and on winning the prize that was Robin Sinclair.
Jordan wasn’t even the richest man who’d courted her. He wasn’t the most successful or powerful. Royalty had begged for the gift of her time. And of all those opportunities, she’d laid eyes on him, and she had chosen.
“This shit doesn’t even make sense,” she muttered, taking another sip from her glass.
The vodka was starting to sour in her mouth, and she cringed at the taste of it and at how much of herself she’d wasted on Jordan. Not just her mind and her body but her talents, her negotiation skills she’d poured into those gotdamn contracts. Funny how now that the hard part was done, he had no use for her anymore. Robin chuckled and immediately picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.
“Did you really pimp yourself out for a damn contract?” she asked before giving him a chance to say hello.
“It’s late, and you sound drunk,” he said indifferently.
Indifference. Yes. Jordan had been indifferent with her from the beginning, only she’d been too stupid to notice it.
“I’m good and drunk,” she shot back. “But not so drunk that I don’t know when I’ve been used.”
“We’ll talk when you sober up.”
“No, Jordan. We will not.” Rage erupted in her like a volcano. “How dare you casually toss me aside like some trick you met in a club.” Hot tears stung her eyes. The vodka boiled in her belly. “How dare you think of me as disposable and expendable after all I’ve done for you and your fucking company!”
She expected him to hang up on her, but he didn’t. He owed her this, the right to speak her piece. “I made no demands on you. I sat by and waited for you to grace me with your sorry-ass time, to see me, to fuck me. I would’ve given you all of me, you selfish sonofabitch! Do you understand what that means?”
“I do,” he said quietly, infuriating her even more.
“You were a waste of my time, Jordan. And I have no doubt that had this relationship gone on any further, you’d have driven me to suicide, too, you selfish bastard.”
Jordan remained silent, but she’d spoken her mind. And Robin was done.
“You’ll have my resignation Monday morning,” she said angrily before ending the call.
* * *
Jordan was on his way back to the airport when she called. Her words resonated with him long after she’d hung up.
“… you’d have driven me to suicide, too…”
Women had loved him. Good women. Too many women, and Jordan had always taken it for granted. For most of his life, he’d never quite embraced the depths of what that meant for him or for them. Losing Claire the way he did had been clarifying and resounding, settling into his soul like a railroad spike. She had literally loved him to death, and all the way to the end of her life, Jordan had never reciprocated. Was he even capable of such a thing?
“Mr. Gatewood.” His pilot, Stan Moore, greeted him with a handshake at the jet.
“Stan.”
“We’ll be taking off in half an hour, sir.”
Jordan started up the steps. “Thank you.”
He settled into his seat, realizing that he was alone. But then that was usually the case. Even when Jordan was surrounded by people, he’d always felt isolated, unable to connect emotionally to anyone. For most of his life, Olivia had been the exception. Of course, she’d tried to kill him. Shit like that had a way of severing ties. Jordan’s relationship with his sister, June, had never been close, and even after learning who his biological father was and that he had brothers, Jordan still felt detached.
Robin had been in the same room with him, in bed with him, and he hadn’t fully been present with her. God! How could she not know that? How could she not sense that he was just a shell of a man trying to care, to relate and connect to another human being? None of this should’ve been a surprise to her. All that he could hope for was that one day, after her anger and pain subsided, she’d finally come to terms with the fact that she really and truly never was the problem and that he was.
* * *
He dozed off for about an hour on the flight home. Jordan took the private elevator up to his penthouse, set his bag down in front of the elevator inside, and stood there, looking out over this empty home. This place represented exactly who he was. Expansive in size, filled with expensive things, and void of any warmth. He lived on top of a tower, far removed from the rest of the world, only interacting with it and the people in it when he had no choice. Jordan had been lonely his whole life. And he’d been alone. But Jordan had no right to feel sorry for himself because people had tried to love him, good people, and he’d always found a way to damage them.
It was after two in the morning, and he couldn’t sleep. Jordan sat up on the edge of the bed, missing the warmth of Abby and that small-ass house of hers. He was much too big to ever believe that he could be happy in such a place. The place wasn’t much bigger than his master suite. But she was in it, and just like this place represented him, hers was a reflection of who she was, and right now, he desperately needed to share it with her. Robin had been right about one thing: he had been selfish. The trick with Abby was not to ruin her the way he’d ruined so many others. He had to be extraordinarily careful with her. Could he be?
Jordan dressed quickly, hurried downstairs, and got the key to that old pickup truck of his. It’d take him two hours to get there. Maybe less.
Can’t You See My Desire?
OF COURSE THE HOUSE WAS dark when he pulled his truck into the driveway. It was almost four in the morning. Jordan was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was to crawl in that tiny-ass bed next to her, pull her close to him, and sleep. He’d been rude enough to try to call to let her know that he was on the road, but the call went straight to voice mail, so he decided to take a chance that’d she’d let him in when he arrived. And what if another man was inside with her? No. There was no one else. Was he staking
a claim on this woman already? It was a ridiculous thought, but one he harbored anyway. There was something between the two of them, thick and rich. Whatever it was lingered with him long after the two separated. There was something about her, about this particular woman that resonated with him in a way no other woman ever had. He liked the taste of it, the smell and the feel of it. And Jordan wanted more of it.
Abby was absolutely unexpected for someone like him. She went against the grain of the world he lived in. She’d awakened a part of him that had been dormant perhaps his whole life. A renewed curiosity for the unexpected. Everything about her was peculiar to him, odd and even quirky. She didn’t follow any rules that applied to how he lived. She wasn’t polished or pristine. She lacked “bearing” as his mother would say, an attitude born of privilege and wealth. Yet, she was her own kind of queen, undefined by things or people around her, by upbringing. He doubted that she even realized how noble she was.
He climbed out of his truck and made his way up the steps to her front door. Just as he was about to ring the doorbell, he heard the dead bolt click. He almost laughed out loud. They shared a frequency, him and her, he confidently concluded. Abby somehow knew he was coming. Maybe she’d heard his truck pull up. Whatever. He waited for her to swing open the door and to either curse at him for not calling first or to jump into his arms and smother him with kisses, or both. The door opened slightly, but if Abby was behind it, she kept herself hidden.
“Abby?” he asked softly. “I take it this is my invitation to come in, sugah?”
He concluded that she was being coy. Women did shit like that. Abby had unlocked the door and had run back into her bedroom. She was probably hiding underneath the covers, hopefully naked.
He pulled open the screen door and walked in, then quietly closed the main door behind him and locked it again. A sudden and unexpected wave of apprehension washed over him, causing him to stop and stand right where he was. Something was wrong, and Jordan felt disoriented, as if he were moving, but he wasn’t. The space moved around him.
