Daring Moves

by Linda Lael Miller

Amanda looked at him in bewilderment. “What about it?”

  Jordan gave her a wry glance. “Do you like it?” he asked patiently.

  Amanda couldn’t think why it mattered whether she liked the tree or not, but she nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

  “We’ll take this one,” Jordan told the attendant.

  They stood back while the man in the plaid woolen coat and blue overalls felled the tree, and followed when he dragged it off toward the truck.

  By the time the tree had been paid for and tied down in the back of Jordan’s truck, it was noon and Amanda was famished.

  Jordan favored her with a sidelong grin when they were seated in the cab. “Hungry?”

  “How do you always know?” Amanda demanded, half surprised and half exasperated. A person couldn’t have a private thought around this man.

  “I’m psychic,” Jordan teased, starting the engine. “Of course, the fact that you haven’t eaten in four hours and your stomach is rumbling helped me come to the conclusion. How does seafood sound?”

  “Wonderful,” Amanda replied. The scent of the tree was on her clothes and Jordan’s, and she loved its pungency.

  They drove to a café overlooking the water and took a table next to a window, where they could see a ferry passing, along with the occasional intrepid sailboat and a number of other small vessels. Jordan flirted with the middle-aged waitress, who obviously knew him and gave Amanda a kindly assessment with heavily made-up eyes.

  “So, Jordan Richards,” the older woman teased, “you’ve been stepping out on me.”

  Jordan grinned. “Sorry, Wanda.”

  Wanda swatted him on the shoulder with a plastic-covered menu. “I’m always the last to know,” she said. Her eyes came back to Amanda again. “Since Jordan doesn’t have enough manners to introduce us, we’ll just have to handle the job ourselves. My name’s Wanda Carson.”

  Amanda smiled and held out her hand. “Amanda Scott,” she replied.

  After shaking Amanda’s hand, Wanda laid the menus down and said, “We got a real good special today. It’s baked chicken with rice.”

  Jordan ordered the special, perhaps to atone for ‘stepping out on’ Wanda, but Amanda had her heart set on seafood, so she ordered deep-fried prawns and French fries.

  Amanda couldn’t remember ever enjoying a meal more than she did that one, but honesty would have forced her to admit it was not the food but the company that made it special.

  On the way back to Jordan’s house, they stopped at a variety store, which was crowded with shopping carts and people, and bought an enormous tree stand, strings of lights, colorful glass ornaments and tinsel. “I gave away the stuff Becky and I had,” he admitted offhandedly while they waited in line to pay.

  A bittersweet pang squeezed Amanda’s heart at the thought, but she only smiled.

  They spent a good hour just dragging the massive tree inside the house and setting it up. It fell over repeatedly, and Jordan finally had to put hooks in the wall and tie it in place. It towered to the ceiling, every needle of its fresh, green branches filling the room with perfume.

  “It’s beautiful,” Amanda vowed, resting her hands on her hips.

  Jordan was bringing a high stepladder in from the garage. “So are you,” he told her, setting the ladder up beside the tree. “In fact, why don’t you come over here?”

  Amanda laughed and shook her head. “No thanks. This fly knows a spider when she sees one.”

  Assuming a pretend glower, Jordan stomped over to Amanda, put his fingers against her ribs and tickled her until she toppled onto the couch, shrieking with laughter.

  Then he pinned her down with his body and stretched her arms far above her head. “Hello, fly,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he placed his mouth on hers.

  “Hello, spider,” Amanda responded, her lips touching his. Just as the piney scent of the tree pervaded the house, Jordan’s closeness permeated her senses.

  Things might have progressed from there if the telephone hadn’t rung, but it did, and Jordan reached over Amanda’s head to grasp the receiver. There was a note of impatience in his voice when he answered, but his expression changed completely when the caller spoke.

  He sat up on the edge of the couch, Amanda apparently forgotten. “Hi, Jessie. I’m fine, honey. How are you?”

  Amanda suddenly felt like an eavesdropper. She got up from the couch and tiptoed out of the living room and up the stairs. She was pacing back and forth across the bedroom, when she noticed an overturned photograph on the bedside table.

  An ache twisted in the pit of her stomach as she walked over, grasped the photograph and set it upright. A beautiful dark-haired woman smiled at her from the picture, her eyes full of love and laughter.

  “Hello, Becky,” Amanda whispered sadly, recalling the white stripe on Jordan’s finger where his wedding band had been.

  Becky seemed to regard her with kind understanding.

  Amanda set the photo carefully back on the bedside table and stood up. A fathomless sorrow filled her; she felt as though she’d made love to another woman’s husband. But this time she’d known what she was doing.

  Turning her back on the picture, Amanda found her suitcase and her overnighter and packed them both. She was just snapping the catches on the suitcase, when the door opened and Jordan came in.

  His gaze shifted from Amanda to the photograph and back again. “Is this about the picture?” he asked quietly.

  Amanda lowered her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Not good enough, Mandy.” Jordan’s voice was husky. “Until ten minutes ago when my daughters called, everything was okay. Then you came up here and saw the picture, and you packed your clothes.”

  She made herself look at him, and it hurt that he lingered in the doorway instead of crossing the room to take her into his arms. “I guess I feel like this is her house and you’re her husband. It’s kind of like being the other woman all over again.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  Amanda shook her head. “No, it isn’t. Look at your left hand, Jordan. You can still see where the wedding band was. When did you take it off? Two weeks ago? Last month?”

  Jordan folded his arms. “What does it matter when I took it off? The point is, I’m not wearing it anymore. And as for the picture, I just forgot to put it away, that’s all.”

  “The night we had dinner at my place, you told me I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I think maybe you’re the one who isn’t ready, Jordan.”

  He sprang away from the door frame, strode across the room and took the suitcase and overnighter from Amanda’s hands, tossing them aside with a clatter. “Remember me? I’m the guy whose mind you blew in that bed over there,” he bit out. “Damn it, have you forgotten the way it was with us?”

  “That isn’t the issue!” Amanda cried, frustrated and confused.

  “Isn’t it?” Jordan asked, clasping her wrists in his hands and wrenching her close to him. “You’re scared, Amanda, so you’re looking for an excuse to make a quick exit. That way you won’t have to face what’s really happening here.”

  Amanda swallowed hard. “What is happening here?” she asked miserably.

  Jordan withdrew from her, albeit reluctantly, except for the grip he’d taken on her hand. “I don’t know exactly,” he confessed, calmer now. “But I think we’d damn well better find out, don’t you?”

  At Amanda’s nod, he led her out of the bedroom and down the stairs again. She sank despondently into an easy chair while he built up the fire on the hearth.

  “I don’t want to be the other woman, Jordan,” she said when he turned to face her.

  He crossed the room, knelt in front of her and placed one of her blue-jeaned legs over each arm of the chair, setting her afire all over again as he stroked the insides of her thighs. “You’re the only woman,” he answered, and he nipped at one of her nipples through the bra and sweatshirt that covered it. “Show me your breasts, Mandy.”

  It was a measure of her obsess
ion with him that she pulled up her sweatshirt and unfastened the front catch on her bra so that she spilled out into full view. He grasped her knees, holding them up on the arms of the chair as he leaned forward to tease one nipple with his tongue.

  Amanda remembered that there was somebody else in Jordan’s life, but she couldn’t remember a face or a name. Perspiration glowed on her upper lip as Jordan took his pleasure at her breasts, moving his right hand from one knee to the other, slowly following an erotic path.

  Finally, when Amanda was half-delirious with wanting, he kissed his way down over her belly and lightly bit her through the denim at the crossroads of her thighs.

  Amanda moaned helplessly and moved to close her legs, and Jordan allowed that, but only long enough to unsnap her jeans and dispose of them, along with her panties and shoes. Then he put her knees back into their original position, opened his own jeans and took her in a powerful, possessive thrust so pleasurable that she nearly fainted.

  She longed to embrace Jordan with her legs, as well as her arms, but he didn’t permit it. It was a battle of sorts, but Amanda couldn’t be sure who was the loser, since every lunge Jordan made wrung a cry of delight from her throat.

  Her climax made her give a long, low scream as she pressed her head into the chair’s back. Jordan, both hands still holding her knees, uttered a desolate groan as his body convulsed and he spilled himself into Amanda.

  Once the gasping aftermath was over and Amanda’s breathing and heart rate had gone back to normal, she was angry. Jordan hadn’t forced her, but he had turned her own body against her, and that was a power no one had ever had over Amanda before.

  She moved to fasten her bra, but Jordan, still breathing hard, his eyes flashing with challenge, interrupted the action and took her tingling breasts gently but firmly into his hands. “We’re not through, Amanda,” he ground out.

  “The hell we aren’t!” she sputtered.

  Keeping his hands where they were, he turned his head and lightly kissed the back of her knee.

  Amanda trembled. “Damn it, Jordan…”

  He moved his lips along her inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire behind them, and slid one of his hands down to rest on her lower abdomen, finding the hidden plum and making a small circle around it with the pad of his thumb. “Yes?” he answered at his leisure.

  A whimper escaped Amanda, and Jordan chuckled at the sound, still working his lethal magic. “You were saying?” he prompted huskily.

  Amanda reached backward to grasp the top of the chair, fearing she would fly away like a rocket if she didn’t. “We’re n-not through,” she concluded.

  Her reward was another baptism in sweet fire, and it made a believer out of her through and through.

  The next day was cold and pristinely beautiful, and Jordan and Amanda decided to leave the tree undecorated and take a drive around the island. That was when Amanda saw the house.

  It stood between Jordan’s place and the ferry terminal, and she couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t noticed it before. It was white with green shutters, and very Victorian, and there was even a lighthouse within walking distance. Best of all a For Sale sign stood in the yard, swinging slowly in the salty breeze.

  “Jordan, stop!” Amanda cried, barely able to restrain herself from reaching out and grasping the steering wheel.

  After giving her one half-amused, half-bewildered look, Jordan steered the truck onto the rocky, rutted driveway leading past a tumbledown mailbox and a few discarded tires and empty rabbit pens.

  Amanda was out of the truck a moment after they came to a jolting halt.

  7

  The grass in the yard was overgrown, and the outside of the building needed paint, but neither of these facts dampened Amanda’s enthusiasm. She hurried around the back of the house and found a screened porch that ran the full length of the place. On the upper floor there were lots of windows, providing an unobstructed view of the water and the mountains.

  It was the perfect place for a bed and breakfast, and Amanda felt a thrill of excitement race through her blood.

  A moment later, though, as Jordan caught up to her, her spirits plummeted. The place had obviously been neglected for a long time and would cost far more than she had to spend. People were willing to pay a premium price for waterfront property.

  “I could help you,” Jordan suggested, reading her mind.

  Amanda quickly shook her head. A personal loan could poison their relationship if things went wrong later on, and besides, she wanted the accomplishment to be her own.

  After they’d walked around the house and looked into the windows, Amanda wrote down the name of the real estate company and the phone number, tucking the information into her purse.

  She could hardly wait to get to a telephone, and Jordan, discerning this, headed straight for the café where Wanda worked. While he chatted with the waitress and ordered clubhouse sandwiches, Amanda dialed the real estate agency’s number and got an answering machine. She left her name and her numbers for home and work in Seattle and returned to the table.

  “No luck?” Jordan asked as she sat down across from him in the booth and reached for the cup of coffee he’d ordered for her.

  “They’ll get in touch,” Amanda answered with a little shrug. “I don’t know why I’m so excited. I probably won’t be able to afford the place, anyway.”

  Jordan’s eyes twinkled as he looked at her. “That was a negative thing to say,” he scolded. “You’re not going to get anywhere in life if you don’t believe in yourself.”

  “Thank you, Norman Vincent Peale,” Amanda said somewhat irritably as she wriggled out of her coat and set it aside. “Just because you could probably write a check for the place on the spot doesn’t mean I’d be able to.”

  The clubhouse sandwiches arrived, and Jordan picked up a potato chip and crunched it between his teeth. “Okay, so I have a knack with money. I should have—it’s my business. And I don’t understand why you won’t let me help.”

  “I have my reasons, Jordan.”

  “Like what?”

  Amanda shrugged. “Suppose in two days or two weeks we decide we don’t want to see each other anymore. If I owed you a big chunk of money, things could get pretty sticky.”

  Jordan shook his head. “That’s just an excuse, Mandy. People borrow money to start businesses every day of the week.”

  In the short time they’d known each other, Amanda had to admit that Jordan had learned to read her well. “I want it to be mine,” she confessed. “Is that too much to ask?”

  “Nope,” Jordan replied good-naturedly, and after that they dropped the subject and talked of other things.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the beach fronting the property Amanda wanted to buy, and the time sped by. Too soon the weekend was over and Jordan was putting her suitcase and overnighter in the back of the Porsche.

  Even the prospect of separation was difficult for Amanda. “How about having dinner at my place before you come back?” she asked somewhat shyly as Jordan pushed the button to turn on the answering machine in his study.

  He smiled at her. “Smooth talker,” he teased.

  Amanda barely stopped herself from suggesting that he bring fresh clothes and a toothbrush, as well. All her life she’d been a patient, methodical person, but where this man was concerned, she had a dangerous tendency to be impulsive. She trembled a little when Jordan kissed her, and devoutly hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  During the ferry ride back to Seattle, they drank coffee in the snack bar, and when they reached the city, Amanda asked Jordan to stop at a supermarket. She bought chicken, fresh corn and potatoes.

  Gershwin greeted them with a mournful meow when they entered Amanda’s apartment. Appeasing his pique was easy, though; Jordan simply opened a can of cat food and set it on the floor for him.

  Amanda was busy cutting up the chicken and washing the corn, so Jordan wandered back into the living room and used the log left from his last visit to star
t a fire on the hearth.

  “We forgot to decorate your tree,” Amanda said when he returned to the kitchenette to lean against the counter, watching her put floured chicken pieces into a hot skillet.

  “It’ll keep,” Jordan answered. When she’d finished putting the chicken on to brown, he took her into his arms. “Mandy, Karen’s bringing the girls to Seattle Friday night. They’re going to spend two weeks with me.”

  Amanda was pleased, but a little puzzled that he’d waited until now to mention it. “That’s great. I guess you found that out when the kids called.”

  He nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Jordan shrugged. “If you recall, we were a little busy after that phone call,” he pointed out. “And then I was trying to work out how to ask you to spend next weekend on the island with us.”

  Amanda broke away long enough to turn the chicken pieces and put the corn on to boil. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Jordan,” she finally said, looking back at him over her shoulder. “After all, we aren’t married, and we don’t want to confuse the kids.”

  “How could we confuse them? They’re not teenagers, Amanda. They’re too small to understand about sex.”

  Amanda shook her head. “Kids know something is going on, whether they understand what it is or not. They sense emotional undercurrents, Jordan, and I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with them.” She turned down the heat under the chicken and covered it with a lid. “Now how about a glass of wine?”

  Jordan nodded his assent, but he looked distracted. After uncorking the bottle and pouring a glass for himself and for Amanda, he wandered into the living room.

  Amanda followed, perching on the arm of the sofa while he stood at the window, watching the city lights.

  “Come on, Jordan,” she urged gently. “’Fess up. You’re scared, aren’t you? When was the last time you were responsible for your kids for two weeks straight?”

  There was a hint of anger in his eyes when he turned to look at her. “I’ve been ‘responsible’ for them since they were born, Amanda.”

  “Maybe so,” she retorted quietly, “but somebody else did the nitty-gritty stuff—first Becky, then your sister. You don’t have any idea how to really take care of your daughters, do you?”