Jordan looked at her, bemused. Up until this moment, he’d thought that whatever else Sarajane was, she was sharp. This had come out of left field and just hung out there without a perch, without a link. Was she resentful of the fact that he was a successful lawyer? And how did that figure into anything?
“What does that mean?”
Oh God, she was going to gasp if she wasn’t careful. Very slowly, trying to look as if she were thinking instead of trying to fill her lungs with air, she drew in a breath.
“That’s why you don’t have a roommate,” she told him, “because you earn more money than I do and don’t need anyone to share expenses with.”
He knew that she understood what he was trying to convey, but he played along. “I didn’t say that because I wanted to discuss economics.”
“I know why you said it,” she quickly interjected before he could use that golden mouth of his to say something seductive and reduce her to a puff of mindless steam.
Jordan had always known when to retreat, when to be the epitome of a gentleman. And maybe, just maybe, Sarajane was right to block this. Maybe they shouldn’t spend the night together. Who knew what he’d be like, coming out of the other side of this encounter? As it was, he felt as if his mind was being played with. Maybe acting on his feelings was not in his best interests at the moment.
He smiled at her. The lady was something else, though. “I take it you’re turning me down.”
She would have thought that he would have tried to push, at least a little. But he just sat there, smiling at her. Melting her bones and looking complacent about it. Obviously the man wasn’t nearly as into her as she was into him.
Well, what the hell did she expect? she upbraided herself. The only thing she represented to him was another conquest, nothing more. If she turned him down, well, he undoubtedly had an endless supply of women to turn to for consolation. If not her, then someone else tonight, right?
She told herself she should be proud that she wouldn’t be numbered among his bimbos, that she stood apart from the crowd.
Somehow, it didn’t really help.
Sarajane blew out a breath, wishing she’d taken the bus, muggers notwithstanding. “I take it that doesn’t happen to you very often.”
He shrugged casually. To say something self-effacing here would be a lie. And he had a feeling that Sarajane Gerrity didn’t suffer lies, or liars, easily. “I don’t keep a tally, but no, not really.”
Her mouth curved in a smile that could only be termed ironic. “I guess that makes me unique.”
He looked at her and suddenly she felt herself all but being hypnotized. And certainly drawn in. “You don’t need to turn me down to be unique, Sarajane.”
She held her breath, expecting him to make a move after that. It was, after all, the perfect opening, the perfect line.
But he didn’t.
At least, not in the way she’d anticipated.
Jordan nodded toward the sidewalk. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to your door.”
Go home, Jordan. Go home before I make a fool of myself. She shook her head. “It’s not necessary.”
He put his own interpretation to her reluctance. “Don’t worry, Sarajane, I won’t try to push my way in if that’s what you’re afraid of.” His easy smile broadened. “Knowing you, you’re probably versed in some ancient art of self-defense that would have me flat on my back in less time than it takes to talk about.”
She didn’t. She’d always meant to take a course in self-defense, but somehow, the timing had always been off. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day. And now, more and more of her time was eaten up by Advocate Aid. That left no time for learning the fine art of tossing an attacker over her shoulder.
If she had, she suddenly thought, there would have been no need for Jordan to have come to her rescue Monday night. She could have taken care of that mugger on her own.
“I’m not afraid,” she assured him, leaving intact his assumption that she did know self-defense. Better safe than sorry, she reasoned. Turning in her seat, she unbuckled her seat belt and then opened her door. Or tried to. “Jordan, you need to open the locks,” she told him.
“Sorry.”
He hit the appropriate button on his armrest and all four locks popped open again. He noticed that she lost no time getting out of the car. She would have probably dashed into the building, he mused, leaving him behind if his legs weren’t so much longer than hers. He caught up with her at the building’s entrance and pulled open the glass-and-wrought-iron door for her.
The elevator was on the ground floor and they got in. As they rode up to the fifth floor in the antiquated car, Sarajane filled the air with rhetoric, jumping from topic to topic like a frog leaping from one burning lily pad to another. Her mouth seemed to move faster than he thought possible for a human being. If she took a breath between sentences, he wasn’t aware of it.
The second the elevator door opened, she made a beeline for her apartment. Did he make her that nervous? he wondered. He supposed turnaround was fair play. She made him nervous as well. An odd sort of nervous that he both relished and held suspect.
“Okay, well, here we are,” she announced needlessly since this was where he’d already dropped her off the other night.
“Yes,” he murmured, stopping her cold by moving a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She could feel the tip of his finger glide, ever so lightly, along the outline of her ear. “Here we are.”
Her breath stopped in her throat. She needed him to back away. Now. Before something happened. “Jordan, this isn’t going to work.”
His smile went straight to the pit of her stomach. How did the man do that?
“Work implies labor.” He paused for a moment to lean his forearm along her shoulder, toying with her hair. Messing with her mind. “This wouldn’t require any labor at all.”
It felt as if there was a lump in her throat as big as a cattle car. She had to concentrate to push the words out. She felt like a drowning man too far from shore to make it back, praying to snag a line. “You know what I mean. There’s no future in this.”
She made it sound much too serious. He wasn’t interested in forever, only in now. “I’ve learned that you have to live in the moment. The future will take care of itself.”
“That’s not a very stable approach to life,” she pointed out.
“If stable is another word for stodgy or in a rut, then you’re right. My approach leaves you open to a lot of possibilities, to trying different things.” Then, because it was just not in his nature to push, even when he knew he had the advantage and even though he’d never wanted to more than he did right now, Jordan stepped back, creating a pocket of air between them. “See you Monday, Sarajane. Sweet dreams.”
Sweet dreams? she thought as she opened and then closed the door to her apartment rather loudly. Torrid dreams was more like it. That was what he’d doomed her to, she thought, kicking off her high heels before she took another step into the apartment. She’d come this close to jumping the man’s bones.
This close, she thought miserably. And he knew it. She knew that he did.
So what? she silently demanded the next moment. All that meant was that she was a normal, red-blooded woman. Anything that happened between them, that she wanted to happen between them, was motivated by nothing more than just pure sex.
She refused to think of it as anything else.
What she needed was a cold shower, Sarajane decided. Maybe an ice-cold shower despite the fact that the landlord was being stingy with the heat again and it was cool in the apartment. Why hadn’t her roommate turned up the heat?
For that matter, where was her roommate?
“Missy,” she called out. “Missy, where are you?” There was no answer. She raised her voice. “Are you here?” After her shower, she was going to want to talk, or watch a movie, or do something to get her mind off the sexy attorney who had almost undone her. “Missy?”
Her voice echoed ba
ck to her, being absorbed by the drapes and the furniture. The light was on in the kitchen, but it could have been left on from this morning. Missy had a habit of forgetting that, unlike sunlight, artificial light was not free.
She made her way to the kitchen anyway. And found herself staring at a note secured to the refrigerator with a magnet that announced: My house was clean last week, sorry you missed it.
“Sara,” the note read. Sarajane frowned. Missy never liked calling her by her full name, said it wasn’t sophisticated enough. Only good manners had kept her from saying that Missy sounded like a nickname belonging to either a spoiled heiress or a stripper. “I’m taking off with Clint for the weekend. See you Monday—maybe. XOXO Missy.”
Wow, Sarajane thought as she turned away, that had been close. She’d really dodged a bullet that time. What if she’d invited Jordan in for a drink?
Come for the drink, stay for the sex. Well, not this time, she assured herself.
The victory felt hollow.
She really needed that shower.
Sarajane began to head to the bathroom, shedding clothes as she went. Trying vainly to get Jordan’s face out of her head.
It wasn’t until much later that she realized that she’d used the words this time—which meant that she was in a state of anticipation.
Jordan’s cell phone rang in his pocket just as he was about to secure his seat belt and start the car. Releasing the belt, he took out the phone and flipped it open without bothering to look at the name. It was dark inside the car and right now, he welcomed the opportunity to talk to anyone but a telemarketer. He needed his attention diverted from the woman he’d just left behind. The woman who was raising his body temperature, apparently against both their wills.
“This is Jordan.”
“Hi, handsome.” The voice on the other end of the line was melodious, but it failed to fill the emptiness around him.
There was only one woman who called him that. Tracey Harper, a woman who occasionally traveled in the same circles as he did. “Hello, Tracey.”
The chuckle was deep and seductive. She’d perfected it, he thought absently. “Right the first time, handsome. I’m flattered. All those women around you and you still recognize my voice.”
She was fishing for a compliment. He obliged. “I’d never forget your voice, Tracey. You’ve always been in a class all by yourself.”
“Liar.” She laughed, delighted. “But I must admit, I do like hearing your lies. You always do it so well. So tell me, where have you been hiding yourself?” she wanted to know.
“Nowhere. I’ve been working.” Tracey’s grandfather had made the family fortune and had been the last in his family actually to work. To Tracey, work was something to do if nothing more interesting and diverting came along. So far, she hadn’t worked a day in her life.
“Now you really are lying,” she said, her voice pouty. “I stopped by the firm on Tuesday to take you out to lunch and they said you were on vacation. But then Lyle Burnett swore he saw you downtown the other day. Lyle has excellent vision,” she emphasized. “What’s going on, handsome? Have you thrown over your friends for a walk on the wild side?”
Funny, he’d never really noticed how completely shallow Tracey was until just now. He’d come across fingerprints that had more depth. “I’m doing a little work for Advocate Aid.”
He heard her laugh on the other end, as if he’d just said something hopelessly amusing. “Community service, darling? Did the police pinch you for going too fast in that gorgeous car of yours?”
“No, no community service.” He had no idea where this feeling of protectiveness toward the agency had suddenly come from. It didn’t really make sense. It wasn’t as if he cared about the people he was dealing with, he just wanted to be done with it. So why—He decided it had to be Tracey’s haughty attitude that was rubbing him the wrong way. “This is a favor to Jenny.”
“Jenny?” she echoed as if the name meant nothing to her. “Oh, right, Jennifer. Jenny. That sweet sister of yours.” He could almost hear the smirk in her voice. “The one who never has any fun.”
Jordan could feel his temper spiking. Exercising control, he managed to bank it down. Tracey Harper was too self-centered to realize she was being insulting and condescending. To Tracey, the world had been created solely for the purpose of serving as her playground.
“That’s the one,” he replied mildly. “Jenny’s expecting a baby.”
“Really?” Amusement fairly dripped from the word. Tracey had once declared she had no good use for children, as if their function was to be strictly utilitarian.
He went on with his explanation, looking for a way to end the conversation. This wasn’t diverting, it was irritating. If anything, it made him think of Sarajane, and how worthless Tracey seemed in comparison to her.
“Her doctor ordered complete bed rest for her, so I’m filling in until she can find someone else to take her place.” Maybe if she was bored with the conversation, Tracey would hang up, he thought. He didn’t realize that he’d given her a cue until she responded.
“Hmm, speaking of beds, I just bought this sinfully expensive one last week. Had it custom made, actually. It’s a huge circular bed.” She paused as if waiting for the words to sink in and create an image. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in breaking it in with me, so to speak.”
She was making, Jordan knew, an offer she felt he couldn’t refuse. Tracey was one of those women who Michelangelo would have gone to the ends of the earth in pursuit of, hoping to use her as a model. She had what had once been described by a fashion magazine as “the perfect body.”
Having seen it up close and personal, he could attest that if anything, the label was a modest one. And obviously from the conversation, for whatever reason, it was a body that, at least for tonight, she was very willing to share with him. He knew she probably felt that he should feel honored. But the thought of making love with Tracey until dawn between long, languid sips of champagne, didn’t have the appeal for him that it had once had.
Tracey’s body might have been perfect, but she had the morals of an alley cat and right now, he had neither the will nor the desire to cope with that. Try as he might, his thoughts were elsewhere.
He tried to let her down diplomatically. “I appreciate the offer, Tracey—”
She was way ahead of him. “But you pass,” she guessed.
He backed up his decision with a reason, thinking to spare her pride. He doubted if anyone had ever turned down her offer before. “I’ve got this court case to prepare for.”
“But handsome, not that I don’t believe in free will and the justice system and all that tedious garbage, but this is Friday night. Court doesn’t come around until Monday morning—does it?”
She probably didn’t know for certain, he thought. Things like that didn’t enter into her world. There were family lawyers for that. “No.”
Her tone indicted that she’d made her case. “Well, that’s eons away.”
Not that he was worried, but Monday morning was closer than it appeared. “I never like walking into anything unprepared.”
“That you don’t,” she agreed with a throaty chuckle. “For an untamed beast, you are the most prepared man I have ever had.” She sighed, accepting his decision. He had no idea if she was disappointed or even cared that he wouldn’t be part of her night. Someone else would and that was all she was interested in. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“I know where to find you,” he assured her. Under L for lost, he thought.
Jordan broke the connection before Tracey could say anything further.
He looked at the phone for a moment. He supposed that was a stupid move on his part. Tracey Harper was ready, willing and able. Every man’s dream. She would have been a perfect substitute for Sarajane.
He turned the key in the ignition, frowning.
No, that wasn’t right. Tracey would have never been a substitute for Sarajane. The
two women were worlds apart. Sarajane had more than a body—she had a mind, and a soul.
Sarajane, he mused, pulling away from the curb, whether she knew it or not, was the most complete woman he’d ever met.
Chapter Ten
Jordan saw the inside of the county jail not once, but three times over the course of the next two days, bringing Joe a new set of questions each time and burrowing himself, as much as possible, into the events of the man’s life leading up to his arrest.
He did everything but engage in a course of prestidigitation to pull together a defense. If the case he had taken over from the public defender could be compared to a chicken, there wouldn’t have even been enough meat available on the frame to make chicken soup. Five minutes into reading the notes it was obvious to Jordan that the attorney handling Joe Juarez’s defense had considered this case a waste of his valuable time.
There was next to nothing in the file, no compilation of people who’d been interviewed or were waiting to be interviewed. There wasn’t even a character witness slated to take the stand for the accused other than Joe’s sister, Alicia.
He contrasted that dearth of people with Assistant District Attorney Janie French’s list. The latter contained both of Joe’s former employers and the engineer who had worked with him on the missing engine plans. It also cited several of the racers and the people who were part of the pit crew. Since the assistant district attorney was calling on them, that couldn’t be good for their side, Jordan reasoned.
The first thing he did Monday morning was to go down to the courthouse to try to get a postponement. The effort went down in flames. The presiding judge wouldn’t hear of it. Justice, like punishment, he maintained, should be meted out swiftly.
When Jordan drove down to Advocate Aid, he was not in the best of moods. His mood wasn’t helped any when Sarajane all but jumped on him the moment he walked into the office.
“Where were you?” she demanded. All morning, she’d been anticipating seeing him walk through the door. This on the heels of a weekend that was equal parts longing and annoyance, both of which had their roots in their last encounter before her building. She’d thought of nothing else but him. And then when he hadn’t shown up to work this morning, she’d had a sinking feeling he was using that “almost” incident not to come in any more.
Mr. Hall Takes a Bride Page 10
