by Lori Foster
Georgia decided not to look at him again, but it turned out not to be a worry. He didn't follow her to Adam's room. Instead he headed back downstairs.
She found Adam still in his jeans and T-shirt, but his shoes had been pulled off and the blankets pulled over him. Her heart swelled at the sight of his teddy bear clutched in his arms. How had Jordan known to give it to him? It was a certainty her son hadn't awakened enough to ask for it. But he might have missed it in the middle of night.
She sighed, kissed him gently – which prompted a snuffled snore – and smiled. She left his room with her thoughts in a jumble, pausing in the hallway for a good three minutes while she tried to figure out how to get rid of Jordan, how to remove him without looking totally ungrateful for all he'd done.
Honesty, she decided, might be her best course. She'd simply tell him outright that she neither wanted nor needed his help – not anymore. She'd thank him for all he'd done that day, regardless of the fact that part of the trouble had been his doing.
Then she'd tell him good-night, and that would be that.
She headed into the kitchen, her back stiff with resolve, and found him making coffee. Before she could speak he turned to her and his expression was so intense, so...sensual, she caught her breath.
"We have to talk," he said, and just those simple words, muttered low and rough, made her heart pound too sharply, her body too warm. She literally trembled with need, and it made her angry and scared and frustrated. How could he affect her this way? He stepped toward her and touched her cheek. "But first, why don't you go get showered and get all this makeup off? The coffee – I found decaf so it won't keep you up – should be done by then."
With her breath coming fast and low, her stomach in knots, Georgia nodded. He was making her coffee, one of her favorite things on this earth. And it sounded heavenly. He sounded heavenly. Lord, what a combination.
She hadn't stood a chance.
JORDAN HAD himself well in check. He would stop reacting like a teenager with raging hormones, where the sight of a girl's panties could put him into a frenzy of carnal greed. Hell, he could see a woman without her damn panties and still control himself. He would be calm. He would explain to Georgia that he wanted her, that he thought they should take advantage of the incredible chemistry ... no, not incredible. Just good old chemistry. Nothing special, but there was no reason why they couldn't get together and, as mature, reasonable adults, have a brief affair.
It only made sense. There was no reason for them not to indulge their mutual desire. She was a divorced woman working in a bar. It wasn't like she was a prim and proper virgin.
But even as Jordan listed in his mind all the reasons that they should and could get together to take the edge off the urgent, burning hunger threatening to consume him, he worried that she'd refuse.
Damn, even looking at her sink full of dirty dishes made him want her. The whole house was a wreck, and rather than make him disdainful, it drove home to him how overwhelmed she was. He looked around again and wondered which issue he should resolve first: his lust, or the fact that he was going to give her a helping hand whether she wanted him to or not.
The old house was silent except for the creaking of the pipes as she showered. His hands shook and his vision blurred as he imagined her naked, wet and soapy and slick and...
He groaned aloud. The shower shut off and he pictured her drying her lush breasts, her flat belly, her thighs....
To distract himself, he started on the dishes. She needed a dishwasher, but there was really no place in the ancient kitchen to put one. The cabinets were a tad warped, some of them mismatched, and they'd been painted many times. They weren't very deep, but there was certainly an abundance of them. Too many, in fact.
The linoleum on the floor, besides being of a singularly ugly design, was cracked and starting to peel. The ceiling, which he guessed to be just beneath the shower judging by the noise, had water stains, indicating that at least a few of those squeaky pipes were leaking.
He was done with the dishes, all of them stacked on a dishtowel to air dry, when the coffee finished dripping. She'd be getting dressed now... Jordan forced himself to keep busy.
Right off the kitchen was a glass-enclosed patio that opened to the backyard. Vents in the floor-to-ceiling windows were opened about an inch, letting in the cool, damp night air. Jordan, who needed a little cooling off, carried his coffee into that room and looked out at the backyard. Beautiful, he thought, even with the rough grounds. There was an enormous oak tree that probably provided an abundance of shade to the room during the hottest part of the day.
A padded glider, two chairs, a few rattan tables that had seen better days, and various toys scattered about filled the room to overflowing.
Light from the kitchen slanted across the floor, mixing with the softer, gentler moonlight. The wind stroked the trees, making the shadows dance. The house, while in need of repair, was perfect. It would take only a few pets – and a man – to make it a complete home.
Jordan held his coffee cup with a barely restrained grip. What was she doing now? How would she dress? He imagined she'd look vastly different in regular clothes, with her hair freshly shampooed and all her overdone makeup gone.
And then finally he heard her.
"Jordan?"
"Right here." The words, whispered low, barely made it past the restriction in his throat. He didn't turn to face her, attempting to get himself back under control first. But damn, it was impossible. It was insane.
He could smell her, he thought with an edge of urgency, sweet and warm and so damn female. Even fresh from her shower, he detected her scent. He felt like a bull in full rut.
He cleared his throat. "There's a cup of coffee waiting for you on the counter."
Her footsteps were nearly silent as she padded to the kitchen and back. He knew she was coming out to him.
"Thank you." She, too, had lowered her voice, and there was an edge of wariness in her tone. He heard her sip, then heard the creak of the glider as she sat down. "I should have known you'd make great coffee."
It sounded like an accusation. Slowly Jordan turned to face her. Moonlight touched her in selective places – over the crown of her hair, making it glow a soft gold, across her shoulders now covered in a baggy white cotton pullover, and her knees, bare from the sloppy gray sweat-shorts she wore. There were thick white ankle socks on her feet.
Not a seductive outfit, at least not deliberately. But then, nothing that she'd done to him had been deliberate. Most of her face was hidden, but he saw enough.
"My God, you're beautiful." Without the makeup, she looked young and innocent and ... distressed. Because of him?
Her quiet laugh was incredulous. "Hardly that. Only my mother, who loves me dearly, would ever call me beautiful."
Jordan heard the words, but he couldn't quite comprehend them. Not with her sitting there making him shake with the most profound emotions he'd ever experienced.
She laughed again, nervously this time as he continued to stare. "But I suppose anything is an improvement after the war paint, especially since it had all been smudged. I nearly scared myself when I looked in the mirror."
She took another drink of the coffee, then set the mug beside her on the floor. With a loose-limbed dexterity that amazed him, she twisted one leg up across her lap and began massaging her foot. "Now, about our talk."
Jordan looked at her foot, so small and feminine, less than half the size of his own. He breathed hard and felt like an idiot. How the hell could her feet raise his fevered urgency to the breaking point? He searched his beleaguered brain for an ounce of logic.
"You're going to need some help for the next few days." Damn, he hadn't meant to blurt that out.
She paused, looking up at him with a blank sort of disbelief. She forced a smile. "We'll be fine."
In for a penny, in for a pound.... "Who will watch your children," he asked, "while you visit your mother at the hospital? I assume you'll want to vi
sit her?"
That got her frowning. "Of course I will! I'm not going to just leave her there...."
"I didn't think so." The love she felt for her mother, the closeness, was as obvious to him as her feelings for her children. It had pained him to witness her worry, her fear. All his life, he'd had his family around him, his mother, his brothers, ready to share any burdens, ready to support him in any way they could. But the one person Georgia had was now ailing, and it turned him inside out trying to imagine how the hell she could cope with that reality.
His own mother was the epitome of female strength, her love and loyalty unshakeable, unquestionable. She was fierce in her independence, and God help anyone who tried to come between her and her family.
He knew if it was his mother in the hospital right now, he'd move heaven and earth for her. But Georgia didn't have his financial or familial resources.
Georgia needed him, and his mother would be the first to have his head if he didn't insist on helping. As much as it pained him, he was going to have to put lust aside, at least for the time being.
"What will you do when you have to work?" Jordan asked. "Do you have any baby-sitters? Other than your mother, I mean."
Her head snapped up and she dropped her foot back to the floor. Jordan had a feeling she was ready to pounce on him. He quickly set his own coffee cup on the rickety rattan table and stepped close enough so that she couldn't come completely to her feet without touching him.
He waited, hoping, his breath held. But with no more than a wary look, she retreated.
He settled both hands on her shoulders and gave her his patented stern look. "Is it true, Georgia? Or do you have someone you can call to help out until your mother gets well?"
They were still speaking in hushed tones, and her voice sounded gruff with emotion when she answered. "Of course I have people I can call."
Jordan knelt down in front of her. His long legs encased hers; he surrounded her, wanting her to know he'd protect her, that she could trust him. "Who?"
Silence filled the room. Jordan loved the way her gray eyes darkened, making her thoughts easy for him to read. Others would consider her eyes mysterious, but he understood her. He knew her.
Finally, after long seconds, she shook her head.
His heart swelled painfully. "There's no one, is there?" She turned away and he whispered, "Georgia?"
"No."
Without conscious decision, he began caressing her shoulders, feeling the smoothness of her, the softness. In a tone so low he could barely hear himself, he said, "Don't ever lie to me again, Georgia. It's not necessary. Whatever men you've known—"
She laughed at that, a sound without much humor. "—I'm not like them. You can trust me."
She stared at his mouth. "Oh, I know you're different, Jordan. No doubt about it. But don't you see? That's part of the problem."
"You want to explain that?"
"Why not?" Her hand trembled when she touched his jaw, and her voice was husky with wonder. "I've found it very easy to ignore most men, even the men yelling crude suggestions from the audience when I dance. But I can't ignore you. You make me feel different. You ... affect me." Then with a frown: "I don't like it."
For the first time in his life, Jordan's knees felt weak. He sucked in air, trying to fill his lungs enough, trying to dredge up just a little more calm. This was important and he wanted it resolved.
He cupped her face, pulled her forward to the edge of her seat until her breasts were soft and full against his chest, until he could feel her thundering heartbeat, meshing with his own. "You affect me, too."
And then he kissed her.
Her lush mouth softened, warmed, under his. She made a small sound of confusion and her hands settled on his shoulders, her fingers biting deep into his muscles.
He tasted her deeply, his tongue pushing gently into her mouth, making them both groan. Jordan was a hairsbreadth away from taking her completely when he forced himself to lift his mouth away. They both struggled for breath. "This is insane," he whispered.
She nodded, staring into his eyes with a mix of wonder and fear.
"Here's what we're going to do." He used the tone that made women agree with him no matter what. He considered it successful, given that she rested her head on his shoulder and her hands still held him tightly.
"I'll see to the children," he insisted, "after I've taken care of all my appointments. With a little rearranging, I think I can be done by three each day, which means you'll have plenty of time to visit with your mother, and then get into work, right?"
With an obvious effort, she pulled herself away from him. She looked dazed, but said, "Sometimes I waitress in the afternoons, too."
Jordan barely resisted the urge to kiss her again. "You work alternate shifts?"
"No. Sometimes I work both. We...that is, I need the money. This house has a lot of repairs that have to be done and..."
It seemed the words came from her unwillingly. "Shh. I understand. When I can't make it, Casey or one of my other relatives will help out. You'll love them. They're all terrific with kids."
She didn't reply to that, either to deny or accept his offer. Jordan looked at the weariness etched into every line of her body. It was no wonder she looked so tired, so utterly defeated. "You were finishing up a double shift today, weren't you?"
"Yes."
He lifted one hand to her cheek and used his thumb to stroke her cheekbone. "How many hours do you usually work in a day?"
"However many I need to."
Her matter-of-fact answer hit him like a slap. He looked up at the ceiling, wanting to roar with frustration. Since meeting her, he'd been indulging visions of wild lechery while she was barely able to stay on her feet. He felt like a complete and total bastard, an unfeeling—
"What is it you do, Jordan? You said you have appointments?"
It wasn't easy to tamp down his anger at the thought of her working herself into the ground, especially at that sorry place. But her exhaustion was a palpable force, wearing her down, wearing him down, and he couldn't bring himself to add to it. He reminded himself that she needed his strength, not his temper. Not his lust.
"I'm a vet." He moved to sit beside her on the glider and as she turned toward him, he took her hand. The unusual day had brought them a closeness that might normally have taken a week or more to achieve. He'd seen her vulnerability, and her strength. But they'd had little time to actually get to know one another. He'd rectify as much of that as he could right now.
"I've always loved animals and they've always loved me. I feel gifted, because they respond to me."
"It's your voice," she said, and she smiled.
Jordan shrugged. All his life he'd heard about his mystical voice, but so far, Georgia had seemed quite capable of resisting him. "Why don't you have any pets? The yard is plenty big enough and the kids would love it."
"So would I. But pets cost money. They need food and shots and...not only would it cost too much, but I don't have much spare time left. The kids are too young to be solely responsible for a pet, and my mother does enough as it is."
Jordan decided to think on that. As isolated as she was in the big house, a dog would be ideal. He said, "I have a clinic not that far from here. That's why it'll be easy for me to help you out with the children. They like me, Georgia, so that shouldn't be a problem. And if you still have any doubts about my character, well, ask around town tomorrow. Anyone can tell you that I'm good baby-sitting material."
She looked down at their clasped hands, then tugged gently until he freed her. Scooting over a little to put some space between them, she again pulled her foot into her lap and began rubbing. In a ridiculously prim voice considering they were sitting alone in the darkness and he'd had his tongue in her mouth only moments before, she said, "I don't want to impose on you."
"I'm offering, and besides—" he tipped her face toward him "—what other options do you have?"
Her eyes closed and she sighed. "Optio
ns? I don't have many, do I? I've often wondered what my life would be like with more options."
Jordan growled out a sigh. She was the most exasperating woman he'd ever met. "I'm trying to give you some options, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that."
Jordan ignored her order. "I want you to be able to visit your mother and work without having to worry about Lisa or Adam."
Her eyes slanted his way, heavy with fatigue. "You don't approve of me."
Fighting the urge to shake her, Jordan frowned. "Wrong. I don't approve of where you work. They're two entirely different things."
She laughed at that, and focused on flexing the arch of her left foot with intense concentration.
Jordan caught her wrists. "What are you doing?"
"My feet hurt." Her tone was abrupt, as if that particular question had annoyed her more than anything else. "Try staying on your feet all damn day – in high heels no less – and your feet'll hurt, too."
He flexed his jaw. He told himself to just leave. He even cursed himself privately in the silence of his own mind. But it didn't make one whit of difference. He was already so far off track, he had no idea where he was going, but was just as intent on getting there.
"Lay down."
She reared back as if he'd struck her. "What?"
Jordan caught her hips and pulled her toward him so that she landed flat on her back on the flowered cushions. She was stunned for a moment, not moving, and before she could gather her wits he deftly flipped her onto her stomach. He had her feet in his lap and his gaze glued to the sight of her rounded ass in the loose shorts, by the time she started to struggle. He must have masochistic tendencies, he decided, tightening his grip on her ankles, holding her secure.
Georgia levered up on stiffened arms, gasping in outrage – until his fingers moved deeply over the arch of her left foot, then up and over her toes. She gave a long, husky, vibrating groan.
The sound of her unrestrained pleasure made Jordan break out in a sweat. Her shoulders went limp and her head dropped forward as if her neck had no strength to hold it up. "This isn't fair."
