JORDAN

by Lori Foster

  Her pale skin was tinged pink from exertion and embarrassment. Her nose was narrow, tilted up on the end like an innocent pixie's, her mouth so full and soft he could almost feel the effect of it against his skin, making his body throb. Her face was a perfect oval, her cheeks a little too round, her chin a little too stubborn. But those arctic gray eyes...

  He'd never seen any like them.

  Her breath caught sharply as he studied her mouth. With a bust of near panic, she began her struggles anew. Her efforts to free herself from his hold set them off-kilter and Jordan fell back a step.

  A rickety table overturned as he bumped into it, spilling several drinks. Jordan, feeling a little drunk himself as he breathed in the smell of her musky, heated skin, especially strong between her soft breasts, attempted to regain his balance and apologize at the same time.

  He wasn't given a chance. This time the man swinging his meaty fist had better aim. Jordan quickly tried to set the dancer on her feet even as he ducked. He wasn't fast enough to do either.

  His head snapped back from a solid clip in the jaw. Pain exploded, but Jordan didn't lose his hold on the woman. In fact, his arms felt locked, unable to open even when he wanted them to.

  Ears ringing from the blow, Jordan allowed his anger to erupt. Because of how he held her, that fist had come entirely too close to touching a woman.

  His head now clearer, Jordan gently released his feminine bundle and moved her behind his back, keeping her there when she attempted to stall the fight. He eyed the man who'd struck him, and with a sharp, lightning-fast reflex that was more automatic than not, Jordan used the backward sweep of his bent arm to slam his elbow into the man's jaw. His blow was far more powerful than the one he'd received, and the man sank like a brick in water. Other than his arm, Jordan hadn't moved – and his mood was deadly.

  All hell broke loose.

  The bouncer who'd just witnessed Jordan's retaliation came charging forward. Jordan sighed. He wasn't a regular, which he supposed meant he was automatically tagged as the troublemaker.

  Looking quickly around for the older men who'd come with him, Jordan found them safely ensconced in the far corner near the front door where they could watch while staying unharmed. He didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief.

  The bouncer grabbed Jordan's arm and jerked him forward. Normally Jordan would have attempted to talk his way out of the confrontation. He wasn't, in the usual course of things, a combative man. But the bar had opened up to a free-for-all. Chairs flew around him, bottles and glasses were thrown. Men were shouting and punching and cursing.

  Jordan locked his jaw. He needed to get the woman out of harm's way, and he needed to take his cohorts back to Buckhorn. Before he had time to really think about what he would do, he ducked under the bouncer's meaty arm and came up behind him. The guy was huge, easily four inches taller than Jordan's six foot one, with a neck the size of a tree trunk Jordan gripped the man's fingers and applied just enough negative pressure for the big guy to issue a moan of pain. Jordan wrapped his free arm around the bouncer's throat and squeezed.

  "Just hold still," Jordan said in disgust, wondering what the hell he should do now. He ducked a body that came staggering past, inadvertently hurting the bouncer further. Damn, things had gotten out of hand.

  Jordan wasn't a fighter, but he had grown up with two older brothers and one younger. Being the pacifist in a family full of physical aggressors, he'd been taught to give as well as take. Not that he and his brothers had ever had any serious fistfights. But his brothers played as hard as they fought, so Jordan had learned how to hold his own.

  Morgan, his second oldest brother, was built like a solid brick wall and Jordan had practiced up on him most of his life. There were few things that Morgan enjoyed more than a good skirmish. And though he was beyond fair, Morgan always finished as the victor.

  Jordan knew how to handle the big ones. Morgan had generously seen to that.

  Sirens sounded outside, adding to the confusion. In strangled tones, the bouncer demanded to be released, but Jordan ignored him, maintaining his awkward hold and refusing to lose the upper hand. Using the large man as a shield, Jordan turned to the woman and shouted, "Get away from here."

  She hesitated for only a moment, sending a regretful look at the money scattered across the stage. Then her gray eyes met his and she nodded her agreement. But before she could go, her eyes widened and she looked beyond Jordan. He twisted just in time to avoid getting hit from behind. The bouncer ended up taking the brunt of the blow, which left him cursing and very disgruntled, but still very alert. Jordan raised his brows. It was a good thing he'd immobilized the big bruiser, because he wasn't at all certain he could have bested him face-to-face.

  He turned back in time to see the woman scrambling up onto the stage. In her retreat, she gave Jordan a delectable view of her bottom in the skimpy costume. Despite his precarious position – having his arms filled with an outraged bouncer – Jordan felt his heartbeat accelerate at the luscious sight of her. She was almost to the curtain when several policemen charged through the doors.

  With a feeling of dread, Jordan saw the officers draw their guns as they issued the clichéd order of "everybody freeze."

  Zenny, Walt, Newton and the others were nowhere in sight, having evidently made a run for it when they heard the sirens. At least they'd managed to avoid this situation, Jordan thought. In fact, he'd be willing to bet they were already halfway back to Buckhorn, anxious to begin spreading tales of his night of debauchery. This was likely more excitement than any of the older citizens had experienced in many years, and the only thing that might compare would be the joy of telling others about it.

  Jordan's thoughts were interrupted when a young officer climbed onto the stage and approached the dancer. She looked like she wanted to run, but instead she faced him with a defiant pose and began arguing. Dressed as she was, her attitude was more ludicrous than not. A mostly naked woman could hardly be taken seriously.

  Jordan started toward her, bustling the bouncer along with him, meaning to intervene. But before he'd taken two steps another officer stepped in front of him. All around them, men were shouting curses and arguing, which did them no good at all. Having no choice, Jordan released the bouncer, who began shaking his hand and cursing and promising dire consequences. He was quickly handcuffed and urged into the crowd of men being corralled outside. The officer turned to Jordan with a frown.

  Knowing there was no hope for it, Jordan merely held out his hands and suffered the unique experience of being handcuffed. Beside him, men attempted to argue their circumstances, and were shoved roughly out the door for their efforts. Jordan shook his head at the demeaning display while still keeping one eye on the woman. Someone, he thought, should at least offer to let her get dressed.

  "You're not from around here, are you?" the officer asked Jordan.

  "No, I'm from Buckhorn." He gave the admission grudgingly, but he already knew there was no way to keep this stupid contretemps from his brothers. They'd rib him about this for the rest of eternity.

  The officer lifted a brow and grinned with a good deal of satisfaction. "That's a break. You can just wait in my car while I notify the sheriff of Buckhorn. He can deal with you himself and save me the trouble."

  When the officer started to pull him away, Jordan asked, "The woman...?"

  "I'd worry about my own hide if I was you," he said, then added, "That Buckhorn sheriff is one mean son of a bitch."

  Since the sheriff was none other than his brother Morgan, Jordan was already well aware of that fact. He lost sight of the woman as he was escorted outside through the rain and into the back seat of a cruiser where he cursed his fate, his libido and his damned temper, which had chosen a hell of a bad time to display itself. The car he'd arrived in was long gone, proving his supposition that the others had headed home.

  The car door opened again and an officer helped the woman inside. She faltered when she saw Jordan sitting there, staring a
t her in blank surprise. "Oh, Lord," she whispered with heartfelt distress. She dropped back into the seat and covered her face with her hands. "Just when I think the night can't get any worse..."

  Jordan breathed in the scent of her rain-damp skin and hair, acutely aware of her frustration, her exhaustion. He settled into his seat and realized that despite how she felt, the night had just taken a dramatic turn for the better as far as he was concerned.

  ~ 2 ~

  "YOU LIVE IN Buckhorn?" he asked, which was the only conclusion he could come up with for why she was now in the car with him.

  When she didn't answer, the officer gave him a man-to-man look and said, "According to her license, she does."

  Jordan leaned forward to see her face, but with her hands still covering it, that wasn't possible. He gently caught her wrists and tugged them down. Their handcuffs clinked together.

  Softly, attempting to put her at ease, he asked, "Whereabouts? I've never seen you before." And he sure as certain would have remembered if he ever had. Even if she'd been fully clothed and doing something as mundane as shopping for groceries, he felt certain he'd have paid special attention to her. There was something about her that hit him on a gut level.

  Just being this close to her now had his muscles cramping in a decidedly erotic way. Like the effects of prolonged foreplay, the sensation was pleasurable yet somewhat painful at the same time, because of the imposed restraint.

  Their gazes met, his curious, hers wary and antagonistic. She looked away. "Where I live," she said under her breath, "is no concern of yours."

  The officer answered again, disregarding her wishes for privacy. "You know that old farmhouse, out by the water tower? She moved in there."

  The woman glared at the officer, who did manage to look a bit sheepish over his quick tongue. He leaned farther into the car to remove her handcuffs and place her purse in her lap. Jordan stared at her narrow wrists while she rubbed them, feeling his temper prick at the thought that she might have been hurt.

  She wore no jewelry – no wedding band.

  The officer spared him a glance. "If I remove your handcuffs, too, do you think you can behave yourself?"

  It rankled, being treated like an unruly child, but Jordan was too busy staring at the woman to take too much offense. He silently held up his hands and waited to have them unlocked. The woman stared out her window past the officer, ignoring Jordan completely.

  "What are we waiting for?" Jordan asked, before the officer could walk away.

  "The chief agrees that Sheriff Hudson can deal with the both of you. Our jail is overcrowded as it is, and it's going to be a late night getting everyone's phone calls out of the way. Just sit tight. Hudson's already been called."

  Jordan groaned softly. Morgan had his hands full taking care of Misty tonight. She was laid low with the nastiest case of flu Jordan had ever seen, and with their baby daughter to contend with, Morgan wouldn't appreciate being called out. Of course, his brother Gabe or one of his sisters-in-law, Honey or Elizabeth, would gladly give a helping hand. But that meant they then ran the risk of getting the flu, too.

  Jordan forced his gaze away from the woman and dropped his head back against the seat. "I'm never going to hear the end of this."

  She shifted slightly away from him, though she was already pressed up against the door. Jordan swiveled his head just a bit to see her. The night was dark with no stars visible, no moonlight. Shadows played over her features and exaggerated her guarded frown. She looked quietly, disturbingly miserable. And she was shivering.

  No wonder, he thought, calling himself three kinds of fool. The outfit she wore offered no protection at all from the rainy night air. Though it was September, a cool wet spell had rolled into Kentucky forcing everyone into slightly warmer clothes. Jordan studied her bare shoulders and slim naked limbs as he removed his jacket. It was damp around the collar, but still dry on the inside, and warm from his own body heat.

  Aware of her efforts to ignore him, he held it out to her, his gaze intent. "Put this on," he told her, using his most cajoling tone. "You're shivering."

  Very slowly, she turned her head and looked at him with the most distant, skeptical expression he'd ever seen on a female face. "Why are you talking like that?"

  Jordan started in surprise. "Like what?" he asked, not quite so softly or cajoling.

  Her frown was filled with distrust...and accusation. "Like you're trying to seduce me. Like a man talks to a woman when they're alone together in bed."

  Jordan couldn't have been more floored by her direct attack if she'd clobbered him. Totally bemused, he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  She made a sound of disgust. "You can stop wasting your time. I'm not interested. And no, I don't want you jacket."

  Taken off guard, Jordan frowned. All his life, women had told him he had the most compelling voice. He could lull a wounded bear to sleep or talk grown men out of a fistfight. At the ripe old age of thirty-three, he'd garnered a half dozen wedding proposals from women who said they loved to just listen to him talk, especially in bed.

  But right then, at this particular moment, he didn't even think about trying to be persuasive. He even forgot that he could be persuasive.

  "Don't be a fool," he growled. "You'll end up catching your death running around near naked like that." Her arms crossed over her middle and her neck stiffened at his exasperated tone. A heavy beat of silence passed before she rounded on him. Her eyes weren't cool now. They were bright and hot with anger.

  "I can't believe you got me into this fix," she nearly shouted, "then have the nerve to try to seduce me and—"

  "I wasn't trying to seduce you, damn it!"

  "—and to criticize me!"

  Distracted by the way her crossed arms hefted her breasts a little higher, Jordan was slow to respond. He managed to drag his gaze up to her very angry face again, and he scowled. "I got you into this fix? Honey, I'm the one who was trying to help you out!"

  She thrust her jaw toward him in clear challenge. She was so close, her sweet hot breath pelted his face. "I'm not your damn honey, mister, and I didn't need your help. I deal with Larry in one way or another nearly every night. He's a regular at the bar – a regular drunk and a regular pain in the butt. But I know how to handle him." Her lip curled, and she added with contempt, "Obviously, you don't."

  Jordan let his hand holding the jacket drop to the seat between them. Never in his life had he been at such a loss for words. He rubbed his chin, scrutinizing her until she squirmed. Good. Her discomfort, in the face of her hostility, gave him a heady dose of satisfaction.

  "Ah." He cocked one brow. "I think I understand now."

  "I seriously doubt that."

  He shrugged. "I suppose any woman with enough guts to display herself as you did tonight must know how to handle the pathetic drunks who want to grope her. I'm sorry I interfered. Would Larry have given you a bigger tip?"

  She choked on an outraged breath. "You hypocrite! I had you pegged from the start. You sit there and condemn me, yet you were at the bar, weren't you? You'll gladly watch, even as you look down your nose at the entertainment."

  Jordan leaned closer, too, drawn to her like a magnet, wishing he could lift her into his lap and hold her close and feel all that angry passion flush against his body. She practically vibrated with her fury, and for some fool reason it turned him on like the most potent aphrodisiac.

  "I was there," Jordan said, "to protest the place, not to support your little display."

  Her eyes widened and her chest heaved; Jordan couldn't help it, he stared at her breasts. They were more than a handful, shimmering with her frustration, creamy pale and looking so soft. His palms itched with the need to scoop those luscious breasts out of her bodice and weigh them in his hands, to flick her nipples with his thumbs until they stiffened, until she moaned.

  He swallowed hard and met her gaze, knowing his look was covetous, knowing that she knew it, too.

  "So," she said, and
to his interest, she sounded a bit breathless despite her efforts at acerbity, "you're a vigilante? One of those crazy people who protests all the sinners, people who drink or dance or have fun of any kind?"

  "Not at all." They were both so close now, a mere inch separated them. She wasn't backing off any more than he was, and her bravado served as another source of excitement. He'd never met a woman like her.

  Jordan felt the clash of wills and the draw of sensual interest. "My only concern," he murmured, distracted by her warmth, her scent, "is the inebriated men who leave the bar and enter my county. Your county. They've caused a few problems which I'd like to see taken care of before someone ends up hurt or even killed."

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Jordan drew a deep breath, trying to remember what it was he had to say. "I had intended to talk to the owner, nothing more. But then, I didn't realize you liked being felt up by Larry."

  Her gaze jerked back to his. Her bottom lip quivered before she stilled it, making Jordan wonder if it was caused by upset at his nasty words – why was he being nasty, damn it? – or from the distinct chill of the night. He felt the first nigglings of shame for baiting her. In the normal course of things, he never intentionally insulted women. He was gentle and understanding. But this wasn't a normal night, she wasn't the average woman, and his reactions to her were as far from the expected as he could get.

  "He touched my leg," she said succinctly, "and before he would have touched anything else, Gus would have stopped him."

  "Gus?" A tiny flare of jealousy took him by surprise.

  "The bouncer. The one you..."

  "Ah." Jordan saw a hint of color sweep over her face and touched her cheek with his fingertips, gently smoothing a damp curl aside. "The big bruiser I stopped from knocking me out. Why the hell was he attacking me, anyway?"

  She didn't protest his touch. They were both breathing too hard, too fast. She lifted one delicate shoulder in a way that made her breasts shift, teasing him with the possibility of gaining a peek at her taut nipples. He was disappointed to see she stayed securely inside the bodice. Jordan shook his head and tried to force himself to concentrate on their conversation, impossible as that seemed.