Daring Moves

by Linda Lael Miller

  She shrugged out of her coat, avoiding his eyes. “Oh.”

  “Are you hungry or anything?” Jordan asked, glancing around the kitchen as though he expected it to be changed somehow from the last time he’d seen it.

  “I could use a cup of coffee,” Amanda admitted. “Maybe with a little brandy in it.”

  Jordan chuckled and disappeared with her coat. When he came back, he was minus his suit jacket and one hand was at his throat, loosening his tie. “The coffee maker’s there on the counter,” he said, pointing. “The other stuff is in the cupboard above it. Why don’t you start the coffee brewing while I bring my stuff in from the car?”

  It sounded like a reasonable idea to Amanda, and she was thankful for something to occupy her. What she and Jordan were about to do was as old as time, but she felt like the first virgin ever to be deflowered. She nodded and busily set about making coffee.

  Jordan made one trip to the garage and then went upstairs. When he returned, he stood behind Amanda and put his arms around her. “Are you sure you want coffee? It’s late, and that’s the regular stuff.”

  His lips moved against her nape, and she couldn’t help the tremor that went through her. “I guess not,” she managed to say.

  Without another word, Jordan lifted her into his arms and carried her through the dark house and up a set of stairs. The light was on in his spacious bedroom, and Amanda murmured an exclamation at the low-key luxury of the place.

  The bed was enormous, and it faced a big-screen TV equipped with a VCR and heaven-only-knows-what other kinds of high-tech electronic equipment. One wall was made entirely of windows, while another was lined with mirrors, and the gray carpet was deep and plush.

  Amanda glanced nervously at the mirrors and saw her own wide eyes looking back at her.

  Jordan kicked off his shoes, flung his tie aside and vanished into the bathroom, whistling and unbuttoning his shirt as he went. A few moments later Amanda heard the sound of a shower running.

  Quickly she scrambled off the bed and found her suitcase, still feeling like a shy virgin. Suddenly the skimpy black nightgown she’d brought along didn’t look sturdy enough, so she helped herself to a heavy terry-cloth robe from Jordan’s closet. After hastily stripping, she wrapped herself in the robe and tied the belt with a double knot.

  When Jordan came out sometime later, he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His hair was blow-dried and combed back from his face, and his eyes twinkled at Amanda when he saw her sitting fitfully on the edge of the chair farthest from the bed.

  “Scared?” he asked, approaching her and pulling her gently to her feet.

  “Of course not,” Amanda lied. The truth was, she was terrified.

  Jordan undid the double knot at her waist as though it were nothing. “I guess I should have invited you to share my shower,” he said, his voice a leisurely rumble.

  “I had one at home,” Amanda was quick to point out.

  He opened the robe, laid it aside and looked at her, slowly and thoroughly, before meeting her eyes again. His lips quirked. “You’re awfully nervous, considering how mad you were when I wouldn’t make love to you last week.”

  Amanda moved to close the robe, but Jordan grasped her wrists and stopped her. He subjected her to another lingering assessment before pushing the garment off her shoulders with warm, gentle hands. It fell silently to the floor.

  “We—we could turn the light out,” she dared to suggest as Jordan lifted her again and carried her back to the bed.

  “We could,” he agreed, stretching out beside her, “but we’re not going to.”

  He’d shaved, and his face was smooth and fragrant. He took her mouth and mastered it skillfully, leaving Amanda dizzy and disoriented when he drew away.

  Tenderly he turned Amanda’s head so that she was facing the mirrors, and a moan lodged in her throat when she saw him move his hand toward her breast.

  “Jordan,” she whispered.

  “Shhh,” he murmured against the tingling flesh of her neck, and Amanda was quiet, her eyes widening as she watched her conquering begin.

  6

  The dark blue velour bedspread felt incredibly soft against Amanda’s bare skin, and she forgot the mirrored wall and even the lights as Jordan kissed and caressed her. Although she tried, she couldn’t hold back the soft moans that escaped her, or the whispered pleas for release.

  But Jordan would not be hurried. “All in good time, Mandy,” he assured her, his mouth at her throat. “All in good time. Just relax.”

  “Relax?” Amanda gave a rueful semihysterical chuckle at the word. “Now? Are you crazy?”

  He trailed his lips down over her collarbone, over the plump rounding of one breast. “Ummm-hmm,” he said just before he took her nipple into his mouth. In the meantime he was stroking the tender skin on the insides of Amanda’s thighs.

  “Stop teasing me,” she whimpered, moving her hands through his hair and over the muscular sleekness of his back.

  “Never,” he paused long enough to say. He left off tormenting Amanda to reach for a pillow, which he deftly tucked underneath her bottom. And then he caressed her in earnest.

  Amanda was frantic. Jordan had been subjecting her to various kinds of foreplay for a week, and she simply couldn’t wait any longer for gratification. Her body demanded it.

  “Jordan,” she pleaded, half-blind with the need of him, “now. Oh, please—”

  She felt him part her legs, then come to rest between them. “Mandy,” he rasped like a man being consumed by invisible fire. In one fierce, beautiful thrust, he was a part of her, but then he lay very still. “Mandy, open your eyes and look at me.”

  She obeyed, but she could barely focus on his features because she was caught up in a whirlwind of sensation. The pillow raised her to him like a pagan offering, and her body was still reacting to the single stroke he’d allowed her. “Jordan,” she pleaded, and all her desperation, all her need, echoed in the name.

  He kissed her thoroughly, his tongue staking the same claim that the other part of his body was making on her. Finally he began to move upon her, slowly at first, making her ask for every motion of his powerful hips, but as Amanda’s passion heated, so did his own. Soon they were parting and coming together again in a wild, primitive rhythm.

  Amanda was the first to scale the peak, and the splintering explosion in her senses was everything she’d hoped it would be. Her body arched like a bow with the string drawn tight, and her cries of surrender echoed off the walls.

  Jordan was more restrained, but Amanda saw a panorama of emotions crossed his face as he gave himself up to her in a series of short, frenzied thrusts.

  They lay on their sides, facing each other, legs still entwined, for long minutes after their lovemaking had ended.

  Jordan gave a raspy chuckle.

  “What’s funny?” Amanda asked softly, winding a tendril of his rich brown hair around one finger.

  “I was just thinking of the first time I saw you. You were bored with waiting in line, so you struck up a conversation. I wondered if you were a member of some weird religious sect.”

  Amanda gave him a playful punch in the chest.

  He laughed and leaned over to kiss her. “Let’s go down to the kitchen,” he said when it was over. “I’m starving.”

  Jordan rose off the bed and retrieved the yellow bathrobe from the floor, tossing it to Amanda. He took a hooded one of striped silk from the closet and put that on. Together, they went downstairs.

  Jordan plundered the cupboards, while Amanda perched on a stool, watching him and sipping a cup of the coffee she’d made earlier. He finally decided on popcorn and thrust a bag into the microwave.

  “This is a great house,” Amanda said as the oven’s motor began to whir. “What I’ve seen of it, anyway.”

  Jordan was busy digging through another cupboard for a serving bowl that suited him. “Thanks.”

  “And it’s pretty big.” Saying those words gave Amanda the
same sense of breathless anticipation she would have felt if she’d walked outside with the intention of plunging a toe into the frigid sound.

  He set a red bowl on the counter with a thump, and the grin he gave her was tinged with exasperation. “Big enough for a couple of kids, I suppose,” he said.

  Amanda shrugged and lifted her eyebrows. “Seems like you could fit Jessica and Lisa in here somewhere.”

  The popcorn was snapping like muted gunfire inside its colorful paper bag. For just a moment, Jordan’s eyes snapped, too. “We’ve been over that, Amanda,” he said.

  She took another sip of her coffee. “Okay. I was just wondering why you’d want a house like this when you live all alone.”

  The bell on the microwave chimed, and Jordan took the popcorn out, carefully opened the bag and dumped the contents into the bowl. The fragrance filled the kitchen, causing Amanda to decide she was hungry, after all.

  “Jordan?” she prompted when he didn’t reply.

  He picked up a kernel and tossed it at her. “How about cooling it with the questions I can’t answer?”

  Amanda sighed and wriggled off the stool. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Your living arrangements are none of my business, anyway.”

  Jordan didn’t counter that statement. He simply took up the bowl and started back through the house and up the stairs. Amanda had no choice but to follow.

  Returning to the bed, they settled themselves under the covers, with pillows at their backs, the popcorn between them, and Jordan switched on the gigantic TV screen.

  The news was on. “I’m not in the mood to be depressed,” Jordan said, working the remote control device with his thumb until a cable channel came on.

  Amanda settled against his shoulder and crunched thoughtfully on a mouthful of popcorn. “I’ve seen this movie before,” she said. “It’s good.”

  Jordan slipped an arm around her and plunged the opposite hand into the bowl. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Images flickered across the screen, the popcorn diminished until there were only yellow kernels in the bottom of the bowl and the moon rose high and beautiful beyond the wall of windows. Amanda sighed and closed her eyes, feeling warm and contented.

  The next thing she knew, it was morning, and Jordan was lying beside her, propped up on one elbow, smiling. “Hi,” he said. He’d showered, and his breath smelled of mint toothpaste.

  Amanda was well aware she hadn’t and hers didn’t. “Hi,” she responded, speaking into the covers.

  Jordan laughed and kissed her forehead. “Breakfast in twenty minutes,” he said, and then he rose off the bed and walked away, wearing only a pair of jeans.

  The moment he was gone, Amanda dashed to the bathroom. When he returned in the prescribed twenty minutes, he was carrying a tray and Amanda was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. She’d exchanged Jordan’s robe for a short nightgown of turquoise silk, and she grinned when she saw the tray in his hands.

  “Room service! I’m impressed, Mr. Richards.”

  He set the food tray carefully in her lap, and Amanda’s stomach rumbled in anticipation as she looked under various lids, finding sliced banana, toast, orange juice and two slices of crisp bacon. “Our services are très expensive, madame,” he teased in a very good French accent.

  “Put it on my credit card,” Amanda bantered back, and picked up a slice of bacon and bit into it.

  Jordan chuckled, still playing the Frenchman. “Oh, but madame, this we cannot do.” He reached out to touch the tip of her right breast with his index finger, making the nipple turn button-hard beneath its covering of silk. “Zee policy is strictly cash and carry.”

  Amanda’s eyes were sparkling as she widened them in mock horror. “We have a terrible problem then, monsieur, for I haven’t a franc to my name. Not a single, solitary one!”

  “This is a true pity,” Jordan continued, laying a light, exploratory finger to Amanda’s knee and drawing it slowly down to her ankle. “I am afraid you cannot leave this room until you have made proper restitution.”

  Amanda ate in silence for a time, while Jordan lingered, watching her with mischievous expectancy in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked, forgetting the game for a moment, and she went red the instant the words were out of her mouth.

  Jordan chuckled, took the tray from her lap and set it aside. “About the price of your room, madame. Some agreement must be reached.”

  Recovered from her earlier embarrassment, Amanda slipped her arms around Jordan’s neck and kissed him softly on the lips. “I’m sure we can work out something to our mutual satisfaction, monsieur.”

  He drew the silk nightgown gently over her head and tossed it away. “Oui,” he answered, laying a hand to her bare thigh even as he pressed her back onto the pillows.

  Amanda groaned as he moved his hand from her thigh to her stomach, and when instinct caused her to draw up her knees, he claimed her with a finger in a sudden motion of his hand.

  The sensation was exquisite, and Amanda arched her neck, her eyes drifting closed as Jordan choreographed a dance for her eager body. She groaned as Jordan’s tongue tamed a pulsing nipple.

  “Of course,” he told her in that same accented English, “the customer, she must always have satisfaction first.”

  Only moments later, Amanda was caught in the throes of a climax that caused her to thrash on the bed and call Jordan’s name even as she clutched blindly at his shoulders.

  “Easy,” he told her, moving his warm lips against her neck. “Nice and easy.”

  Amanda sagged back to the mattress, her breath coming in fevered gasps, her eyes smoldering as she watched Jordan slip out of his jeans and poise himself above her. “No more waiting,” she said. “I want you, Jordan.”

  He gave her only a portion of his magnificence at first, but then, when she traced the circumference of each of his nipples with a fingertip, he gave a low growl and plunged into her in earnest. And the whole splendid rite began all over again.

  “A Christmas tree?” Amanda echoed, standing in the middle of Jordan’s living room with its high, beamed ceilings and breathtaking view of the mountains and Puget Sound. She was wearing jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt, like Jordan, and there was a cozy fire snapping on the raised hearth.

  “Is that so strange?” Jordan asked. “After all, it is December.”

  Amanda assessed the towering tinted glass window that let in the view. “It would be a shame to cover that up,” she said.

  Jordan pinched her cheek. “Thank you, Ebenezer Scrooge,” he teased. Then he widened his eyes at her. “What is it with you and Christmas, anyway?”

  With a sigh, Amanda collapsed into a cushy chair upholstered in dark blue brushed cotton, her arms folded. “I guess I’d like to let it just sort of slip past unnoticed.”

  “Fat chance,” Jordan replied, perching on the arm of her chair. “It’s everywhere.”

  “Yeah,” Amanda said, lowering her eyes.

  He put a finger under her chin and lifted. “What is it, Mandy?”

  She tried to smile. “My dad left at Christmas,” she admitted, her voice small as she momentarily became a little girl again.

  “Ouch,” Jordan whispered, pulling her to her feet. Then he sank into the chair and drew Amanda onto his lap. “That was a dirty trick.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Amanda reflected, staring out at mountains she didn’t really see. “We never heard another word from him, ever. He didn’t even take his presents.”

  Jordan pressed Amanda’s head against his shoulder. “Know what?” he asked softly. “Hating Christmas isn’t going to change what happened.”

  She lifted her head so that she could look into Jordan’s eyes. “It’s the hardest time of the year when you’ve lost somebody you loved.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Believe me, Mandy, I know that. The first year after Becky died, Jessie asked me to write a letter to Santa Claus for her. She wanted him to bring her mother back.�
�

  Amanda smoothed the hair at Jordan’s temple, even though it wasn’t rumpled. “What did you do?”

  “My first impulse was to get falling-down drunk and stay that way until spring.” He sighed. “I didn’t, of course. With some help from my sister, I explained to Jessie that even Santa couldn’t pull off anything that big. It was tough, but we all got through it.”

  “Don’t you miss them?” Amanda dared to ask, her voice barely more than a breath. “Jessica and Lisa, I mean?”

  “Every day of my life,” Jordan replied, “but I’ve got to think about what’s best for them.” His tone said the conversation was over, and so did his action. He got out of the chair, propelling Amanda to her feet in the process. “Let’s go cut a Christmas tree.”

  Amanda smiled. “I haven’t done that since I was still at home. My stepdad used to take my sister and me along every year—we drove all the way to Issaquah.”

  “So,” Jordan teased with a light in his eyes, “your memories of Christmas aren’t all bad.”

  Recalling how hard Bob had tried to make up not only for Marion’s loss, but the girls’, as well, Amanda had a warm feeling. “You’re right,” she admitted.

  Jordan squinted at her and twisted the end of an imaginary mustache. This time his accent was Viennese, and he was, according to Amanda’s best guess, Sigmund Freud. “Absolutely of course I am right,” he said.

  And then he pulled Amanda close and kissed her soundly, and she found herself wanting to go back upstairs.

  That wasn’t in the cards, however. Jordan had decided to cut down a Christmas tree, and his purpose was evidently unshakable. They put on coats, climbed into the small, late-model pickup truck parked beside the Porsche and sped off toward the tree farm.

  Slogging up and down the rows of Christmas trees while the attendant walked behind them with a chain saw at the ready, Amanda actually felt festive. The piney smell was pungent, the air crisp, the sky painfully blue.

  “How about this one?” Jordan said, pausing to inspect a twelve-footer.