Betty smiled. “Fine. Do you mind if I use the phone? I like to check in with the office periodically.”
Amanda gestured toward the wall phone between the sink and stove. “Help yourself. And have some more coffee if you want it. I won’t be long.”
After finding a pair of black woolen slacks and a burgundy sweater, along with clean underthings and a towel and washcloth, Amanda dashed upstairs and took a quick, hot shower. When she was dressed, with her hair blow-dried and a light application of makeup highlighting her features, she hurried downstairs.
Betty was leaning against one of the kitchen counters, sipping coffee. “When are the movers coming?”
“Monday,” Amanda answered, pulling on a pair of shoes that would probably be ruined the instant she wore them outside. “But even when all my stuff is here, the place is still going to echo like a cavern.”
Betty laughed. “Maybe we can fix that this afternoon.”
After saying goodbye to Gershwin, who still hadn’t recovered from his stupor, Amanda pulled the ugly rubber boots she’d worn earlier on over her shoes, put on her slicker and followed Betty to her car.
Since the auction was scheduled for one o’clock, they had time for a leisurely lunch. Mercifully Betty suggested a small soup-and-sandwich place in town, rather than the roadside café Amanda knew Jordan frequented.
She ordered a turkey sandwich with bean sprouts, along with a bowl of minestrone, and ate with enthusiasm. She wasn’t over Jordan, and she was still weak with lingering traces of the flu, but her appetite was back.
After lunch, she and Betty drove to a secluded house on the opposite side of the island, where folding chairs had been set up under huge pink-and-white striped canopies. Amanda’s heart sank when she saw how many people had braved the nasty weather in search of a bargain, but Betty seemed to be taking a positive attitude, so she tried to follow suit.
The articles available for sale were scattered throughout the house—there were pianos and bedroom sets, tea services and bureaus, sets of china boasting imprints like Limoges and Haviland. Embroidered linens were offered, too, along with exquisite lace curtains and grandfather clocks, and wonderful old books that smelled of age and refinement.
Amanda’s excitement built, and she crossed her fingers as she and Betty took their places in the horde of metal chairs.
A beautiful old sleigh bed with a matching bureau and armoire came up for sale first, and Amanda, thinking of her seven empty bedrooms, held up her bid card when the auctioneer asked for a modest amount to start the sale rolling.
A man in the back row bid against her, and it was nip and tuck, but Amanda finally won the skirmish with fairly minimal damage to her bank balance.
After that she bought linens, one of the grandfather clocks and a set of English bone china, while Betty purchased a full-length mirror in a cherrywood stand and an old jewelry box. At the end of the sale, Amanda made arrangements for the auction company to deliver her purchases, then wrote out a check.
It was midafternoon by then, and her soup and sandwich were beginning to wear off. Having lost sight of Betty in the crowd, she bought a hot dog with mustard and relish and a diet cola, then sat quietly in one of the folding chairs to eat.
She nearly choked when Jordan walked up, turned the chair in front of hers around and straddled it, his arms draped across the back. His expression was every bit as remote as it had been the last time she’d seen him, and Amanda prayed he couldn’t hear her heart thudding against her rib cage.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice insinuating that she was probably up to no good.
Amanda was instantly offended. She swallowed a chunk of her hot dog in a painful lump and replied, “I thought I’d try to steal some of the silverware, or maybe palm an antique broach or two.”
He grinned, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You bought a bedroom set, a grandfather clock and some dishes. Getting married, Ms. Scott, now that Mrs. Brockman is out of the picture?”
It was all Amanda could do not to poke him in the eye with the rest of her hot dog. Obviously he didn’t know she’d bought the Victorian house, and she wasn’t about to tell him. “It’ll be a June wedding,” she said evenly. “Would you like to come?”
“I’m busy for the rest of the decade,” Jordan answered in a taut voice, his hazel eyes snapping as he rose from the chair and put it back into line with the others. “See you around.”
As abruptly as that, he was gone, and Amanda was left to sit there wondering why she’d let him walk away. When Betty returned, bringing along two of her friends to be introduced, Amanda was staring glumly at her unfinished hot dog.
Because Jessie and Lisa were staying with Becky’s parents in Bellevue that weekend, Jordan was driving the Porsche. He strode back to it, oblivious to the rain saturating his hair and his shirt, and threw himself behind the wheel, slamming the door behind him.
Damn it all to hell, if Amanda was going to go on as if nothing had happened between them, couldn’t she at least stay on her own turf? It drove him crazy, catching glimpses of her in restaurants, and in the midst of crowds waiting to cross streets, and in the next aisle at bookstores.
After slamming his palms against the steering wheel once, he turned the key in the ignition, and the powerful engine surged to life. The decision had been made by the time the conglomeration of striped canopies had disappeared from the rearview mirror; he would go home, change his clothes and spend the rest of the day in Seattle, working.
The plan seemed to be falling into place until an hour later, when he was passing by that Victorian place Amanda had liked so much. The lights were on, and there was a familiar car parked in the driveway.
He met Betty Prestwood’s pink Cadillac midway between the highway and the house. She smiled and waved, and Jordan waved back distractedly, noticing for the first time that the For Sale sign was gone from the yard.
He braked the car to a stop and sprinted through the rain to the door, feeling a peculiar mixture of elation and outrage as he hammered at it with one fist.
11
Amanda had just changed back into her jeans and a T-shirt when the thunderous knock sounded at the door. Expecting an enthusiastic salesperson, she was taken aback to find Jordan standing on her porch, dripping rainwater and indignation.
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” he demanded.
Amanda stepped back without a word, watching with round eyes as Jordan stomped into the warm kitchen, scowling at her.
“Well?” he prompted, putting his hands on his hips.
He seemed to have a particular scenario in mind, but Amanda couldn’t think for the life of her what it would be.
She left him standing there while she went into her bathroom for a dry towel. Handing it to him upon her return, she asked, “Well, what?”
“What are you doing in this house? For that matter, what are you doing on this island?” He was drying his hair all the while he spoke, a grudging expression on his face.
Amanda hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and tilted her head to one side. “I own this house,” she replied. “As for why I’m on the island, well—” she paused to shrug and spread her hands “—I guess I just didn’t know I was supposed to get your approval before I stepped off the ferry.”
Jordan flung the towel across the room, and it caught on the handle of the old-fashioned refrigerator. “Are you married to James?”
She went to the percolator and filled two cups with coffee, one for her and one for Jordan. “No,” she answered, turning her head to look back at him over her shoulder. “I explained the situation to you. I was only trying to help James in my own misguided way. Where did you get the idea I meant to marry him?”
Jordan sighed and shoved his hand through damp, tangled hair. “Okay, so my imagination ran away with me. I tried to call you on Christmas Eve, and you weren’t home. I had all these pictures in my mind of you lying on some secluded beach in Hawaii, helpin
g James recuperate.”
Although she was delighted, even jubilant, to know Jordan had tried to call her, she wasn’t about to let on. She brought the coffee cup to him and held it out until he took it. “How would my lying on a secluded beach help James recuperate?”
“With you for a visual aid, a corpse would recuperate,” he replied with a sheepish grin. His eyes remained serious. “I’ve missed you, Mandy.”
She felt tears rising in her eyes and lowered her head while she struggled to hold them back. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Jordan took her coffee and set it, with his own, on the counter. “Don’t you have any chairs in this place?”
Amanda made herself meet his eyes as she shook her head. “Not yet. The movers will be here on Monday.”
He approached her, hooked his index fingers through the belt loops on her jeans and pulled her close. So close that every intimacy they’d ever shared came surging back to her memory at the contact, making her feel light-headed.
“I may have neglected to mention this before,” he said in a voice like summer thunder rumbling far in the distance, “but I’m in love with you, and I have a feeling it’s a lifetime thing.”
Amanda linked her hands behind his neck, reveling in her closeness to Jordan and the priceless words he’d just said. “Actually, you did neglect to mention that, Mr. Richards.”
He tasted her lips, sending a thrill careening through her system. “I apologize abjectly, even though you’re guilty of the same oversight.”
“Only too true,” Amanda whispered, her mouth against his. “I love you, Jordan.”
He ran his hands up and down her back, strong and sure and full of the power to set her senses aflame. He pressed his lips to her neck and answered with a teasing growl.
Amanda called upon all her self-control to lean back in his arms. “Jordan, we have things to talk about—things to work out. We can’t just take up where we left off.”
His fingers were hooked in her belt loops again. “I’ll grant you that we have a lot to work through, and it’s going to take some time. Why don’t we go over to my place and talk?”
With considerable effort, Amanda willed her heart to slow down to a normal beat. She knew what was going to happen—it was inevitable—but she wanted to be sure they were on solid ground first. “We can talk here,” she said, and she led him into the giant, empty parlor with its view of the sound. They sat together on a window seat with no cushion, their hands clasped. “I was wrong not to tell you I was seeing James again, Jordan, and I’m sorry.”
He touched her lips with an index finger. Outside, beyond the rain-dappled glass, the storm raged on. “Looking back, I guess I wouldn’t have been very receptive, anyway. I was feeling pretty possessive.”
Amanda rested her head against his damp shoulder, unable to resist his warmth any longer, trembling as he traced a tingling pattern on her nape. “I thought I was going to die when I saw you at Ivar’s with that corporation chick.”
Jordan laughed and curved his fingers under her chin. “’Corporation chick’? That was Clarissa Robbins. She works in the legal department and is married to one of my best friends.”
Amanda felt foolish, but she was also relieved, and she guessed that showed in her face, because Jordan was grinning at her. “You have your girls back,” she said. “I saw you on the ferry last night.”
Jordan nodded. “They didn’t actually move in until a month ago. After all, they were used to living with Paul and Karen, so we just did weekends at first. And they’re staying with Becky’s parents until tomorrow night.”
She tried to lower her head again, but Jordan wouldn’t allow it.
“Think you could fall for a guy with two kids, Mandy?” he asked.
“I already have,” she answered softly.
Jordan’s mouth descended to hers, gentle at first, and then possessive and commanding. By the time he withdrew, Amanda was dazed.
“Show me the bridal suite,” he said, rising to his feet and pulling Amanda after him.
She swallowed. “There’s no bed in there, Jordan,” she explained timidly.
“Where do you sleep?”
His voice was downright hypnotic. In fact, if he’d started undressing her right there in the middle of the parlor, she wouldn’t have been able to raise an objection. “In a little room off the kitchen, but—”
“Show me,” Jordan interrupted, and she led him back to where she slept.
“That’ll never hold up,” he said, eyeing the cot Amanda had spent the night on. With an inspired grin, he grabbed up the sleeping bag and pillow. “Now,” he went on, grasping her hand again, “let’s break in the bridal suite.”
Amanda felt color rise in her cheeks, and she averted her eyes before leading the way around to the front of the house and up the stairs.
The best room faced the water and boasted its own fireplace, but it was unfurnished except for a large hooked rug centered in the middle of the floor.
Jordan spread the sleeping bag out on the rug and tossed the pillow carelessly on top of it, then stood watching Amanda with a mingling of humor and hunger in his eyes. “Come here, Mandy,” he said with gentle authority.
She approached him shyly, because in some ways everything was new between them.
He slipped his hands beneath her T-shirt, resting them lightly on the sides of her waist; his hands were surprisingly warm.
“I love you, Amanda Scott,” he told her firmly. “And in a month or a year or whenever you’re ready, I’m going to make you my wife. Any objections?”
Amanda’s lips were dry, and she wet them with her tongue. “None at all,” she answered, and she drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes as Jordan slid his hands up her sides to her breasts. With his thumbs he stroked her long-neglected nipples through the lacy fabric of her bra. When they stood erect, he pulled Amanda’s T-shirt off over her head and tossed it aside.
“Let me look at you,” he said, standing back a little.
Slowly, a little awkwardly, Amanda unhooked her bra and let it drop, revealing her full breasts. She let her hand fall back in ecstatic surrender as Jordan boldly closed his hands over her. When he bent his head and began to suckle at one pulsing nipple, she gave a little cry and entangled her hands in his hair.
He drew on both her breasts, one after the other, until she was half-delirious, and then he dropped to his knees on the sleeping bag and gently took Amanda’s shoes from her feet. She started to sink down, needing union with him, but he grasped her hips and held her upright.
She bit down on her lower lip as she felt his finger beneath the waistband of her jeans. The snap gave way, and then the zipper, and then Amanda was bared to him, except for her panties and socks.
Her knees bent of their own accord, and her pelvis shifted forward as Jordan nipped at the hidden mound, all the time rolling one of her socks down. When her feet were bare, he pulled her panties down very slowly, and she kicked them aside impatiently, sure that Jordan would appease her now.
But he wasn’t through tormenting her. He massaged the insides of her thighs, carefully avoiding the place that most needed his attention, and then lifted one of her knees and placed it over his shoulder.
Amanda was forced to link her hands behind his neck to keep from falling. “Oh,” she whimpered as she realized what a vulnerable position she was in. “Jordan—”
He parted her with his fingers. “What?”
Her answer was cut off, and forced forever into the recesses of her mind when Jordan suddenly took her fully, greedily, into his mouth. She thrust her head back with the proud abandon of a tigress and gave a primitive groan that echoed in the empty room.
Jordan raised one hand to fondle her breast as he consumed her, and the two sensations combined to drive her to the very edge of sanity. She began to plead with him, and tug at the back of his shirt in a fruitless effort to strip him and feel his nakedness under her hands.
He lay back on the floor, bringing Ama
nda with him, and she rocked wildly in a shameless search for release while he moved his hands in gentle circles on her quivering belly. When he caught both her nipples between his fingers, Amanda’s quest ended in a spectacular explosion that wrung a series of hoarse cries from her throat.
She sagged to the floor when it was over, only half-conscious, and Jordan arranged her on the sleeping bag before slowly removing his clothes. When he was naked, he tucked the pillow under her bottom and parted her knees, kneeling between them to tease her.
The back of one hand resting against her mouth, Amanda gave a soft moan. “Jordan—”
“Umm?” He gave her barely an inch of himself, but that was enough to arouse her all over again, to stir the fires he’d just banked. At the same time, he bent to sip at one of her nipples in a leisurely fashion.
Amanda groaned.
“What was that?” Jordan teased, barely pausing in his enjoyment of her breast.
“I want—oh, God, Jordan, please—I need you so much….”
He drew in a ragged breath, and she felt him tremble against the insides of her thighs as he gave her another inch.
She clutched at his arms, trying to pull him to her. “Jordan!” she wailed suddenly in utter desperation, and he gave her just a little more of himself.
Amanda couldn’t wait any longer. She’d had release once, it was true, but her every instinct drove her toward complete fulfillment. She needed Jordan’s weight, his substance, his force, and she needed it immediately.
With a fierce cry, she thrust her hips upward, taking him all the way inside her, and at that point Jordan’s awesome control snapped.
Amanda watched through a haze of passion as he surrendered. Bracing his hands on the rug and arching his back, he withdrew and lunged into her again in a long, violent stroke, leaving no doubt as to the extent of his claim on her.
Daring Moves Page 15
