Man From Half Moon Bay: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Iris Johansen

  “And so did you,” she murmured, gazing at his face.

  A sudden bitterness touched his lips. “Oh, yes, I loved it. Maybe even more than my father. We ate, slept, and breathed Bandora.” He crushed the empty paper bag and threw it in the waste-basket beside the cabinet. “Neither of us could think of anything else.”

  She felt a tiny thrill of excitement. She was coming so close. He had revealed more of his past to her in the last few moments than he had during the entire period of their marriage. If she was patient, surely he would give her the key to understanding him. “Did Cam live at Bandora too?”

  “Not during the rough years. Those times were over when my father married his mother.” He looked up. “Where can I find a grill to put these steaks on?”

  “In the cabinet.” She gestured to the doors below the sink. “Cam is your stepbrother? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “It wasn’t important. Cam is as close as any real brother to me and my father legally adopted him.”

  It was important. Everything he was telling her was an important revelation that was ripping aside the barriers and the mystery that had kept her from knowing Jordan. “When did you move to Half Moon Bay?”

  “Why don’t we talk about it later?” He gave her a surprisingly boyish smile over his shoulder as he knelt to find the grill. “To maintain my reputation I’ve got to concentrate on making you the best steak you’ve ever eaten.” He peered into the cabinet. “I don’t see a grill. Are you sure it’s here? Oh, there it is.” He drew out the grill and stood up with one lithe movement.

  His damp jeans were clinging to the strong line of his thighs, she suddenly noticed worriedly. He’d probably catch cold standing there in those wet clothes. “Why are you worrying about those blasted steaks, when you’ll be lucky if you don’t get pneumonia?” She plopped the bag he had given her when he’d entered the apartment onto the breakfast bar and slipped from the stool. “I’ll put the steaks on while you go into the bathroom and towel off and use my hair dryer. Then light a fire in the fireplace and bake some of the dampness out of those clothes.”

  “I’m not that wet. I’ll wait until—”

  “Go,” she said firmly as she went behind the counter and took the grill from him. “Now.”

  A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned toward the bathroom. “But you don’t know the culinary experience you’re missing by riding roughshod over my humble person.” He glanced back over his shoulder and solemnly winked his right eye. “You do know that it was all a plot?”

  Her eyes widened warily. “A plot?”

  He nodded solemnly. “I hired a pilot to seed the clouds and cause a cloudburst to place you in just this dilemma. I can’t really cook a great beefsteak.” He opened the door to the bathroom. “I’m much better with kangaroo meat.”

  The smile was still lingering on Sara’s lips as the door closed behind him. She shook her head as she turned and placed the grill under the broiler. She had never known Jordan to behave with such boyish lightheartedness. She was glad she had decided to let him stay for dinner. But had she decided or had she been swept along on the wave of Jordan’s personality? She frowned with sudden apprehension. She didn’t like the idea of being swept anywhere against her wishes, and the phrase brought back too many memories of Jordan’s manipulation of her in the past.

  Still, the decision hadn’t really been against her will. She desperately wanted to find out more of Jordan’s past and he wasn’t treating her as he had before. His demeanor had been companionable, even sweet. Not calculated and sensual. No, she was being too wary of Jordan’s motives. He had come because he wanted to give comfort. He hadn’t wanted her to be alone with her fear and dread.

  She began to season the steaks, her heart lighter and more full of hope than at any time since she had heard that Kemp had left New York.

  “Tell me more about Bandora.” Sara snuggled deeper into the softness of the cushioned couch and gazed dreamily into the depths of the fire. “You said it wasn’t like Half Moon?”

  Jordan shook his head before lifting his glass to his lips. “Night and day. Nothing was easy there. The land was hard and unforgiving.” He gazed down into the ruby depths of his wine. “So were the people who lived there.” He abruptly set his glass on the end table beside him, stood up, and crossed to the fireplace. “There’s nothing much to tell.” He picked up the poker and briskly stoked the logs until the sparks flew. “Not much happens in the outback.”

  But Sara had an idea something very important had happened to Jordan at Bandora. The sudden tension that wired his every movement was sending out clear signals that she was effortlessly picking up. She was beginning to be able to read him, she realized contentedly. He was no longer the enigma that had both fascinated and intimidated her. In the last week he had shown a vulnerable side that had touched her as his more forceful persona never had. “How old did you say you were when your mother died?”

  He stopped in mid-action as he stirred the logs. “Twelve.” Then he straightened and replaced the poker before turning and smiling at her. “How about another glass of wine?”

  The subject was evidently closed, Sara realized with disappointment. Well, she had learned a great deal this evening and must not be impatient. “I don’t think so. Two is my limit.” She placed her empty glass on the end table. “Thank you, Jordan.”

  “For what? You’re the one who cooked dinner.”

  She shook her head. “For being here when I needed you. For helping me through a bad time.”

  “You would have made it without me.” He crossed back to her and dropped to his knees beside the couch. He deliberately exaggerated his Australian drawl, “You’re one strong sheila, mate.”

  “You said that before but sometimes I don’t feel very strong.” And this was one of the times, Sara thought. She was excruciatingly sensitive to her own physical vulnerability, her skin that could be bruised and marked, her vitality that could be quenched in the flicker of an eye.

  “Listen.” Jordan’s voice was soft but his gaze held her own with mesmerizing intensity. “Do you know what I thought when I first saw you? Summer. You reminded me of summer on Bandora. Gentle mornings, hot afternoons and the nights—” His index finger touched her cheek. “Unbelievable.”

  Her skin couldn’t be throbbing beneath that light touch, she thought hazily, it must be her imagination. Then his finger moved slowly down her cheek to the corner of her lips and she gasped. Her lips felt suddenly swollen, and the nipples of her breasts blossomed, hardened, against the soft knit of her T-shirt.

  “Summer has many moods, but underneath every one of them is always the warmth and the strength. When I got to know you, I found you were exactly what I had thought you were.” His finger traveled down her neck to the hollow of her throat. The pulse leapt beneath the pad of his finger. Her lungs were constricting and her breasts were lifting and falling as she tried to get her breath. “Sunlight. You warmed me.” His head bent slowly until his lips hovered over her own. “Heat. You burned me.”

  He was the one who was burning her, Sara thought. The heat emanating from her body was seeping into her blood, into every muscle, into her bones. She was melting. “Jordan …”

  “Shh …” His palm covered her right breast. “I want to feel your heart beat for me.” He bent and laid his dark head on her left breast. “I want to hear it.” His hand gently, rhythmically, squeezed her right breast, his thumb teasingly flicking the hard nipple. Her heart was beating so hard, she felt as if it were about to leap from her chest.

  “I love this,” Jordan whispered. “Being close to you, touching you. You’re all sunlight and life.” His lips moved a fraction of an inch, and he pressed his warm tongue to her nipple. She shuddered. The thin cotton knit might as well have not been there for all the difference it made. “Sara, I’m hurting so.”

  So was she. The emptiness between her thighs was aching, throbbing to be filled. She couldn’t stand it. She pushed him
away and tore the T-shirt over her head, baring her breasts. He watched her, his gaze intent, his lips heavy with sensuality.

  Then his mouth was on her bare breast, sucking strongly, his hands cupping, framing, as his teeth and tongue took and took and took. She moaned deep in her throat, her spine arching helplessly, her fingers clutching at his thick hair. “Jordan, I’ve got to—” She broke off as his teeth tugged gently at her nipple, exerting just enough pressure to bring sharp pleasure with no pain. “Jordan, now!”

  “Not yet.” His deft fingers moved swiftly on the zipper of her jeans as his lips went to her other breast. “I want it to be so good for you, love. You know you have to be ready before you’re able to take me.” He slipped her jeans and panties down and off her. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His fingers were between her thighs now, swiftly finding what he sought. “I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, Sara.”

  She was hurting now, she thought desperately. His thumb was pressing, rotating. Her neck arched back against the pillows of the couch as her lips parted to force more air into her starved lungs.

  “Just a little more, love,” he murmured. His fingers suddenly plunged. “That’s right, flow. Cling to me.” Another finger slipped into her silken warmth. She was full, yet she needed … Jordan knew what she needed. Jordan always knew.

  “Enough.” Jordan’s nostrils were flaring, and there was a flush mantling his cheeks. His chest was moving heavily with the harshness of his breathing. “Dear heaven, I hope it’s enough, I can’t wait any longer.” With trembling fingers he unbuttoned his shirt, his gaze never leaving her face. “Tell me you need me, Sara. I have to hear you say it.”

  He had to know already, Sara thought hazily. She was lying here naked before him, her body exquisitely tuned to the siren’s song of desire he had woven upon it, her breasts heavy and ripe, waiting for his mouth, his tongue.

  “Tell me,” he urged softly, stripping off his shirt and throwing it aside. The black hair of the triangle on his chest looked soft, springy, and she suddenly leaned forward and undulated her upper body against him. “I want you,” she whispered. “I want this.”

  The dark thatch was as erotically abrasive as she remembered against her sensitive nipples, and her nails dug spasmodically into his shoulders. “I’ve missed you so, Jordan.”

  His arms went around her, his palms going down to cup her buttocks.

  “Oh, God, Sara, I’ve been so empty inside.” His voice was muffled in her hair. “My body has never stopped hurting for you, but that’s only part of it.” His hoarse laugh had an edge of desperation. “Though it’s a damn big part at the moment and getting bigger every minute.” He pushed her away and quickly unzipped his jeans. “As you’ll soon learn, love.”

  “Let me help you.”

  “No,” he said sharply, rising to his feet. “Don’t touch me. It’s been too long.” He was quickly stripping. “Stay there. Just let me look at you.” His lips twisted ruefully. “Though that’s a form of torture in itself at the moment.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. Jordan was naked now, the firelight burnishing his slim, muscular body with a copper glow. He was so beautifully male, beautifully sensual. She felt the muscles of her belly clench as her gaze followed the arrow of dark hair down his chest, past his flat belly.

  “It will be all right,” he said quietly as he followed her gaze. “You’re ready for me now.” He dropped to the floor before her, parting her legs and slipping between them. His fingers probed, teased, and proved his words beyond any shadow of doubt. “Sara …” His cheek was rubbing against her breast, the faint bristle of a shadowy growth brushing her softness, arousing her in yet another way. “Let me have you. I have to have you.”

  She gasped as he pulled her down on the floor, cushioning her against the fall with his own body. Flesh against flesh. Shock tingled through her and then a bigger shock electrified her as he plunged into her with one powerful thrust.

  So full. Deliciously full. She couldn’t move. But she didn’t need to move. Jordan was moving both of them, lifting, stroking, thrusting with a wild primeval energy.

  Her teeth were gritting to keep from screaming as sensation after sensation tore through her. She tried but she couldn’t keep a low keening moan from escaping.

  Jordan smiled up at her, his lips wonderfully tender even in their fierce sensuality. “Do you know how often in the past months I’ve woken from a sound sleep because I thought I heard you make that little half moan?” he asked thickly. He rolled them over, taking his weight on his strong arms when she was under him. Then he plunged deeply, watching her face to catch every nuance of expression. “And then not be able to go back to sleep because I wanted you so much that it was an ache that twisted my guts.”

  She gasped as he thrust harder.

  He frowned in concern. “Too much?”

  “No.” She began to meet his movements with ones of her own. “More!”

  He covered her lips with his own, his tongue plunging, his hips plunging. Heat was building. She heard a low groan but she didn’t know if it came from him or her. It didn’t matter. They were one. Plunging, burning, reaching.

  She could hear the sound of his harsh breathing above her, the power of his thrusts escalated until she was weak. Molten. His.

  His face above her was taut as he fought for control, waiting for her. But he didn’t have to wait long, the tension was too great, the pace too hot. The release of that tension exploded violently in a white-hot burst of rapture.

  “Sara.” Jordan breathed with relief. “I was afraid …” Then he kissed her softly, sweetly. “I wasn’t sure I could hold on. I’ve been wanting you for too long.”

  That was strange. She couldn’t ever remember Jordan voicing doubts, particularly in the area of lovemaking, where he was so unequivocally a master. But this was a new Jordan, vulnerable and more open and … sweet, she thought drowsily. “Wonderful.”

  “Yes, it was.” He kissed her and rolled with her onto their sides. “And it’s going to be even more wonderful for us the next time, now that the edge is off.” He stood up and reached down to draw her to her feet. “Come on, first we’re going to shower and then I’m going to watch you open the presents you’ve so rudely ignored.” He nodded at the grocery sack she’d set on the breakfast bar before dinner and completely forgotten. “I think you should be taught a few manners, Madame Bandor.”

  “Presents? I don’t want any gifts. I told you—”

  “Hush.” Jordan’s arm slipped around her waist as he propelled her toward the bathroom. “These are very special and you’ll have no qualms about accepting these particular gifts. I promise you, love.”

  “But I …” She trailed off and gave up the battle. She was too happy to quarrel with him at the moment. She would worry about his penchant for giving extravagant gifts after their shower. “We’ll have to take turns. My shower stall is the size of a postage stamp.”

  “I noticed that while I was drying my hair,” he said, his bright blue eye twinkled mischievously. “And we definitely will not take turns.” His hand slid up from her waist to cup one breast in his palm. “I do enjoy a nice cozy shower.”

  She felt suddenly breathless. “We’ll be right on top of each other.”

  “I do hope so, love.” He opened the glass shower door. “That’s exactly the position I have in mind.”

  Five

  Jordan dried himself sketchily, took the shower cap off Sara, and fluffed up her hair. Then he turned away, tossing her a bath towel. “Dry off, I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get your robe. I want to be sure you’re suitably dressed for the occasion.”

  Sara found herself smiling as she began to run the terry towel over her stomach. That was a switch, Sara thought, Jordan had appeared to be delighted to undress her for this particular occasion. Delight. What a delicious word and one that described her mood exactly. Delight that soared and sparkled, laughter that bubbled
and flowed.

  “I was hoping you’d still have this robe. It was stashed in the back of your closet.” Jordan was back and carrying her thigh-length happi coat over one arm. “I remember how pretty you looked in it.”

  “I’d forgotten I had it.” Jordan had purchased the exquisite silk garment in Singapore on a business trip a few months after their marriage. The brilliant yellow of the material shimmered under the light in a blaze of exotic beauty. The silk was cool against her flesh as she slipped it on. “I haven’t worn it in months.”

  “Eighteen?” His voice was low as he carefully smoothed the front of the robe. Then he smiled with an effort and said, “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to think about those months tonight.” He whirled and pulled her out of the bathroom. “Come on, it’s present time.”

  She was half-laughing, half-protesting as he propelled her across the room to the dhurrie rug in front of the fireplace. He gathered two of the beige cushions from the couch and tossed them on the floor. “Sit.” He strode toward the breakfast bar to get the sack.

  She fell on her knees on the cushions and sat back on her heels. “Jordan, you’re so damn stubborn. Why won’t you listen to me? I don’t want—”

  “You have to accept these or you’ll hurt my feelings.” He was coming back carrying the paper sack. He fell to his knees and pulled out a gaudy gold foil party hat with a yellow plume. He settled the golden cornet on her head. “I crown you Queen Sara,” he said solemnly. “Queen of the May.”

  Sara found herself giggling. “Well, it’s certainly different from the last gift you gave me. I feel like one of those flappers from the twenties.”

  He shook his head. “A queen,” he repeated gravely. He reached into the sack again. “And here’s your scepter.”

  She burst out laughing. It was a yellow plastic back scratcher with four curved prongs on one end and a huge metallic bow taped to the long handle. “Jordan, you idiot.”