THE bubble of laughter died in Tamsin’s throat. Slowly, she walked across the hall and sat down on the bottom step of the stairs. Drawing up her legs, she clasped her hands around her knees.
Of course she hadn’t really been in love with Jordan. She’d been dazzled by him, that’s all, too naive and immature to see beyond the superficial veneer.
Her eyes darkened. It was as if she’d been drugged that first summer. Intoxicated by Jordan. He’d dominated her every waking thought, disturbed her sleep. She grimaced with despair for her nineteen-year-old self. She’d been such a prize idiot. For those few short summer months, her whole life had revolved around Jordan, and she existed only for the precious hours she spent with him at Swallow Lodge.
Don’t you think it’s time to forgive me? For not taking a frustrated nineteen-year-old virgin to my bed…She cringed with revulsion, instantly denying the veracity of the words. She had romanticized about Jordan, idolized him. It had been little more than a ridiculous, immature schoolgirl crush. She’d been content just to be near him, hear his voice…
Oh, come off it, Tamsin, she berated herself fiercely. Be honest, at least with yourself. How many nights had she lain awake, unable to sleep because of that restless, yearning ache inside her? How many times had she longed to touch Jordan, to reach out a tentative hand and caress the bronzed silky skin of his back as he lay stretched out by the swimming pool?
Hell’s bells, she thought with self-disgust, she’d been like a voyeur that summer with her surreptitious visual exploration of Jordan’s body. She’d been fascinated by the firm, straight mouth, the lean, strong hands…and always there had been that gnawing frustration that Jordan never seemed to see her as a woman, persisted in treating her as an entertaining kid sister.
She closed her eyes, wincing. At least she had thought her humiliating secret was safe, but all the time Jordan had been fully aware of that turbulence inside her…
She flicked her eyes open. Every time I turned round, you were there. He hadn’t even liked her. She’d deluded herself into thinking that he at least enjoyed her company, that she amused him, and all the time he’d merely been tolerating her for her mother’s sake. He hadn’t even cared enough about her to say goodbye before he departed for America.
She could still remember the intensity of that pain, the grey, dreary mist that had engulfed her for months. Blaming Jordan indirectly for the breakup of her parents’ marriage had been a shield behind which to hide her hurt. She jerked herself to her feet, her hands tightening on the banisters.
She’d never resented her mother’s blossoming romance with Andrew. It had been her mother’s affinity with Jordan that she’d truly resented, she admitted, eyes darkening with self-disgust. She’d been jealous of Jordan’s preference for her mother’s company, his undisguised respect and affection for her, of the old-fashioned, protective courtesy with which he’d always treated her.
Mechanically, Tamsin began to climb the stairs. Oh, God, what a little fool she’d been at nineteen. What a priggish little hypocrite, refusing to accept that all she’d really felt for Jordan was physical attraction. Unable to view it in such basic terms, she’d made it more palatable by convincing herself that she had fallen in love with him.
She started to grin. All that suffering for nothing. Thank heavens it was all over with now. Thank heavens that she could now view Jordan with complete detached objectivity, that there was nothing he could do or say to ever hurt her again. Maybe there were times when she still felt the force of his attraction, when her hormones weren’t quite as governable as she would have wished, but she was no longer an immature nineteen-year-old. Emotionally, she was completely secure, able to see Jordan for what he really was. A man of ice. Shallow, cold, motivated only by a thirst for power. And that man repelled her.
She was stuck. Well and truly stuck. Squashing the stirring of panic, Tamsin cursed herself resoundingly for her stupidity.
The child’s cot hadn’t seemed particularly heavy when she’d pushed it across the dusty floor, but now, with one end perched precariously on the edge of the loft opening and the other end balanced on her shoulders, it weighed a ton. She didn’t have the strength to push it back up, nor the strength to take its complete weight if she moved another step down the ladder. And her arms and shoulders ached excruciatingly, threatened to give way completely, the result of which didn’t bear contemplation. Her eyes flickered over the landing banisters, down the curve of the stairwell to the hard, tiled floor below. She shuddered convulsively, forcing her gaze back upwards.
She couldn’t stay like this much longer. Had to do something. Somehow had to push the cot back into the loft. Gritting her teeth, she summonsed every ounce of strength and stretched up.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
The curt voice startled her, her hold on the cot lessened, and eyes widening with horror, she felt herself overbalancing, slipping backwards, the cot descending on her like a steam roller.
The yelp of alarm suffocated in her throat as she cannoned backwards into an impenetrable wall. A wall made of hard, rock-solid muscles. Jordan was pinning her forwards against the ladder, holding her immobile as he eased the weight of the cot from her arms.
‘You’re quite safe now, Tam. Take it easy.’
She gulped for breath, legs and arms feeling like jelly, as the quiet, authoritative voice spoke in her ear. Safe. She wasn’t going to be crushed beneath the cot, fall like a rag doll to the treacherously hard floor below.
‘Feel steadier?’ Jordan enquired calmly.
She nodded. She could feel the warmth of his hard, lean body seeping through her sweatshirt, feel the warmth of his breath on the nape of her neck.
‘Fine,’ she croaked. Every part of her was being enveloped, suffused by Jordan.
‘Right. Move down to the next rung. That’s it…next one…steady…one more. Now see if you can slither under my arms.’
With a sigh of relief, Tamsin felt the landing carpet beneath her feet and moved aside quickly to allow Jordan more room for his own descent. He’d changed into a faded denim shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled back on his arms. Tamsin watched as with seemingly effortless ease he slowly lowered the cot to the floor, the hard band of muscle in his shoulders clearly defined beneath his shirt, the sinews of his tanned forearms pronounced.
‘Thank you,’ she said casually as he straightened up. ‘It was a little heavier than I thought,’ she continued airily and faltered as she saw the expression on his face. He looked as if he was going to explode, wanted to pick her up and shake her like a rat.
‘Of all the damn fool stupid…what the hell did you think you were doing?’
Tamsin’s chin jerked up. She didn’t need this. ‘I was managing perfectly well until you startled me,’ she lied forcefully.
‘You could have been seriously injured!’
Tamsin looked up into the blazing blue eyes. She’d never seen Jordan display such intensity of emotion, not even anger. He was normally so controlled, so completely in command of himself. Warmth spurted through her. His anger was ignited by concern for her, concern that she could have been hurt…
‘Your mother has enough on her plate right now without worrying about your landing up in hospital with a broken leg.’
Tamsin was conscious of the appalling sense of deflation. It was her mother he was concerned for, not her, and doubtlessly the inconvenience to himself if he’d had to cart her off to hospital.
‘I told you not to start on the loft until I returned.’
Her chin squared. ‘And who the hell do you think you are giving me orders? I’m not in your employ yet!’
Her eyes blazed back into the blue ones, and to her disbelief she saw Jordan’s lips twitch, the straight mouth beginning to quirk upwards.
‘Did you know you’ve a cobweb in your hair?’ he enquired conversationally, ‘And a dirty great smudge down your left cheek?’
And that was funny? She gave him a withering glance, perversely refusing to wipe her cheek, nonplussed by his rapid change of mood.
‘Come on, Tarzan. Lift up your end and we’ll put this out of the way in a bedroom.’
Shrugging, she did as she was bid, fighting back the sudden burst of inane giggles welling in her throat at the sheer incongruity of the situation. She and Jordan manoeuvring a baby’s cot into a spare room like prospective parents…
The giggle died in her throat, the scenario no longer funny but oddly disturbing. She flicked a glance upwards at Jordan as he backed down the landing. His expression was completely impassive, his eyes dark and shuttered as they rested on the cot.
Had marriage, a family, ever been on his agenda? Her eyes explored his face and admitted defeat. It was impossible even to guess at what was going on in that dark head. She pursed her lips. Even her vivid imagination couldn’t conjure up the image of Jordan as loving husband and doting father.
He would regard a wife as yet another of his acquisitions, someone to manipulate, bend to his will, the bearer of his son and heir. Doubtlessly, he would give his family every material advantage but he would never give a hundred per cent of himself. His family would be little more than another subsidiary in his empire, would remain on the periphery of his life; it would never form his whole life…
‘So you’ve decided to accept the job with Lyne Air?’
She was lost in thought so it took a second for the drawling words to penetrate Tamsin’s head. She had forgotten her earlier remark. Unenthusiastically, she surveyed Jordan across the cot, wishing with all her heart she could tell him that she’d had a better offer.
‘It’ll do as a stopgap for now,’ she said finally and to her intense irritation saw the blue eyes gleam. He was laughing at her, knew just how much it was costing her to accept his job. Her hands tightened around the edge of the cot as Jordan pushed open the door at the end of the landing with a shoulder. She wasn’t going to mention the interview, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. As her eyes flickered over the strong, assured face, she felt the familiar surge of antagonism scalding through her. He was always so much in control, so damn sure of himself.
‘Why the hell did you offer me the job of senior duty officer if you’d no intention of really giving it to me?’
When she released her hold on the cot, her end crashed to the floor, knocking her shin-bone. With a yelp of pain, Tamsin hopped over to the window-seat, rubbing her ankle.
‘I think you must be under some misapprehension.’ Jordan surveyed her blandly. ‘I didn’t offer you the position of S.D.O. I merely informed you that such a vacancy existed at Lyne Air and that you might be interested in applying.’ He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.’
‘Nothing,’ Tamsin ground through clenched teeth.
‘Oh, I see,’ Jordan murmured thoughtfully. ‘You were under the impression that you merely had to make a guest appearance at Lyne Air and I would hand you the position of S.D.O. on a plate.’ His eyes glinted. ‘Tsk, tsk, Tamsin, you don’t think I’d stoop to nepotism, do you? Sacrifice my integrity on your account?’
Very droll. Tamsin glowered at her grazed ankle. Jordan would stoop to whatever he chose if it so suited his purposes. He was completely unprincipled, would never be influenced or dictated to by social mores or conventions. That was what made him so completely invincible. He was unaffected by other people’s opinions, answerable only to himself.
‘You prejudged me before the interview…had no intention—’
‘I admit I had reservations about your lack of experience—’
‘I was…am…perfectly capable—’
‘But I was prepared to give you a chance at the interview to convince me to the contrary,’ Jordan continued smoothly, ignoring her interruption. ‘Which you failed abysmally to do.’
‘That interview was a complete farce from start to finish!’
‘I agree. And if it was an example of your standard performance, I’m not damn well surprised you’re currently unemployed. Scowling and grunting monosyllabically at the floor is not a technique designed to impress prospective employers. In fact, if it hadn’t been for your references, we wouldn’t have risked offering you even a temporary position.’
‘You checked my references?’ Tamsin echoed incredulously. She was prepared to admit that she hadn’t exactly covered herself in glory at the ill-fated interview and that Jordan might—just might—conceivably have some justification for his criticism, but he had been acquainted with her for four years, would shortly be related to her by marriage. Couldn’t he take anything or anyone on trust?
Slowly, she rose to her feet and followed Jordan from the room, wondering why she felt so absurdly betrayed. We? She frowned. ‘Who’s Sara Lyne?’ she asked with studied casualness, her eyes fixed on the back of the dark head.
‘A major shareholder in Lyne Air and one of your future employers,’ he returned drily, turning to face her as he reached the ladder. ‘Her father founded the company, and when he died a year ago, Sara inherited his holding.’
Tamsin wrinkled her nose. She’d guessed the name was too great a coincidence and was startled by how much she resented the fact that the other woman must have discussed her with Jordan.
Whistling under his breath, Jordan repositioned the ladder beneath the loft.
‘We used to live together.’
The casually tossed words were so totally unexpected, so totally out of character that for a second Tamsin wondered if she’d heard correctly. Sara Lyne and Jordan…live-in lovers. She felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach.
‘Kiss-and-tell time, Jordan?’ she enquired acidly. ‘Save it for the tabloids.’ Sara Lyne and Jordan…They’d shared not just a bed, but a home, their lives. How long had the relationship lasted? Who had terminated it? The questions hammered in her head, but she refused to voice them, refused to walk into the baited trap and give him the opportunity to snub her.
‘So that’s why you’re backing Lyne Air? For old times’ sake?’ She smiled at him sweetly. ‘Letting sentiment influence your business judgement?’
He smiled back at her blandly. ‘Right, up you go, Tamsin.’
She might have guessed that it would be impossible to goad him into an indiscretion. Mechanically, Tamsin moved towards the ladder and began climbing up, belatedly registering just how instinctive it had been, yet again, to instantly obey Jordan’s command. Irritated with herself, she paused, flicking a glance downwards over her shoulder.
Jordan, one foot resting on the bottom rung, was quite blatantly studying the firm, rounded curve of her jean-clad hips and bottom with undisguised masculine interest. Damn voyeur. Tamsin’s eyes darkened with immediate disdain, furiously aware of the tingling, teasing warmth curdling in the pit of her stomach. He was appraising her as if she were an exhibit in a cattle market and her body was actually responding, she thought with incredulous self-disgust.
As he lifted his gaze and encompassed her frigid expression, his mouth quirked in a slow, unrepentant grin. It would take a hundred-ton steamroller to squash Jordan Keston, Tamsin thought sourly, realizing to her chagrin that she was flushing. Jerking her gaze back upwards, she clambered swiftly into the loft. Without waiting for Jordan to join her, determined to concentrate solely on the task in hand, she padded across the dusty floorboards and started to inspect the contents of two large trunks stowed in the far corner.
She hadn’t realized that it was so late. As she replaced the telephone receiver back on the hook, Tamsin looked out of the hall window into the gathering dusk, her mouth curving as she saw Jordan emerge from the garage, a black refuse bag tossed carelessly over his broad shoulder. Hair tousled, shirt dishevelled, jeans as dusty as her own, he looked almost human.
She couldn’t have managed without him this afternoon, Tamsin admitted honestly, her eyes following the lean figure as he moved with long, fluid strides down the drive and deposited the refuse bag with the rest of the rubbish awaiting collection. She had expected him to depart after they’d finished in the loft, but to her surprise he’d remained, helping her clear out the outhouses and garage. She grinned. Perhaps, accustomed to being sheltered from the mundane chores of life by a bevy of willing domestic staff, he’d enjoyed the novelty of it.
And neither had their enforced proximity proved to be as much of an ordeal as she’d anticipated. It was as if he’d miraculously undergone some personality change since first entering the house that morning, the man with the taunting eyes and caustic comments transformed into an easygoing, good-humoured companion.
She’d been cautious, wary of him at first, like a mouse with a suddenly reformed feline, waiting for him to pounce, but slowly she’d begun to relax. Her grin broadened, her eyes softening into golden pools. She’d even been persuaded by his plaintive demand for chocolate biscuits mid-afternoon to rush down to the local shop and buy a packet of his favourite brand.
Humming under her breath, Tamsin walked down the hall into the kitchen and glanced up at the clock. Five hours of Jordan’s undiluted company and they hadn’t even bickered. That must deserve an entry in the record book.
After washing her hands in the sink, she rifled one of the packing cases and removed the first-aid kit. Sitting down at the table, she extracted a sterilized needle and examined the index finger of her right hand.
‘Splinter?’
Tamsin glanced up as Jordan appeared through the back door and smiled. ‘Mmm.’ She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so unconstrained, at ease in his presence. ‘Mum just phoned,’ she added. ‘She’s just arrived at the hospital and seen Andrew and all’s well.’ She summarized the brief exchange.
Jordan nodded but made no comment, moving across to the sink to wash his own hands, and Tamsin was caught totally off guard by the swell of aching emptiness that suddenly and for no logical reason engulfed her. For a few short hours, she and Jordan hadn’t been at each other’s throats, but nothing had fundamentally changed. There would always be a barrier between them, superficially broken at times, but never completely removed.
Her eyes flickered across the broad, indomitable shoulders. Had Jordan ever been really close to anyone? Had any woman been not just an appendage to his life, but a necessity? Her stomach knotted. Sara Lyne…? She cursed as her hand jerked and the needle dug into her finger.
‘Cut that out!’ Jordan intervened, forcefully swinging round from the sink.
‘What?’ Tamsin almost gaped in disbelief at the censorious tone in his voice, the grim disapproval on his face.
‘I dislike hearing women swear. It’s unfeminine and unattractive. And a habit you seem to have increasingly adopted.’
Tamsin’s eyes sparked. ‘Of all the pompous, sanctimonious prigs!’ Considering his own choice epithets when he’d stubbed his toe earlier on…‘What century are you living in, Jordan?’ She snapped her mouth shut as she saw the glint in his eyes. He was winding her up and she’d walked straight into the baited trap, all guns blazing, as usual. Why did she always lose her sense of humour when she was with Jordan? Always overreact to everything he said and did?
‘Come on, give me your hand.’ Drawing up a chair, Jordan sat down beside her.
She ignored him and continued unsuccessfully with her awkward, left-handed ministrations.
‘You’ll get frown lines if you scowl like that,’ Jordan observed pleasantly and reaching out took hold of her right hand. ‘Needle?’
Wordlessly, she handed it to him and stared resolutely ahead, trying to block out the feel of the lean, supple fingers curving around her palm, fighting to ignore the warmth shooting up her arm, spreading slowly and languorously through her body. It took every ounce of concentration to stop her eyelashes flickering downwards, not to lose herself completely in the soporific yet tantalizing sensations flooding over her. She hardly felt the tiny stab of pain as he deftly and gently wielded the needle.
‘There,’ he murmured with satisfaction as he extracted the splinter.
‘Thank you,’ she managed to force the word out. Even her scalp was tingling, she realized with appalled horror and her pulse rate seemed to have doubled.
She began to ease her hand from his grasp but his grip tightened. Eyes focused on her face, he slowly and deliberately raised her hand to his mouth and touched the tip of her finger with his lips.
Ye gods! Summonsing every ounce of composure, Tamsin met his gaze squarely. ‘Could you pass me a plaster?’ she said evenly. Why the hell did he have to keep playing this ridiculous, one-sided game with her? she wondered savagely. What was he trying to prove?
‘Would you like me to put it on or can you manage?’ he murmured solicitously as he did as she requested. She saw the amused awareness in his eyes and froze inside. You arrogant, self-satisfied bastard. How could she, even for a few short hours that afternoon, have actually liked him? Her stomach suddenly rumbled, the sound seemingly deafening in the silent kitchen, making her conscious of just how long it had been since her half-eaten sandwich.
‘Hungry?’ Jordan enquired idly, stretching his arms above his head, the movement causing the denim shirt to tauten across the deep chest and powerful shoulders. Scraping back his chair, he rose unhurriedly to his feet and glanced at his gold wristwatch. ‘I’ll make a reservation at Andre’s for eight-thirty.’ He moved towards the door. ‘That should give us both time to shower and change.’
Before Tamsin had time to gather her startled wits, he had disappeared into the hall. He had to be joking! She heard the front door slam close. This was simply another of his perverse games. Jumping to her feet, she darted out of the kitchen door and sped round the side of the house. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to ask her. He’d evidently assumed with his customary high-handed arrogance that no woman could possibly refuse him, would even consider passing on the chance of an intimate dinner at an exclusive restaurant with the great Jordan Keston.
‘Jordan!’
In the process of unlocking his car, he acknowledged her approach with a casual wave of his hand but didn’t pause. She ground to an abrupt halt. Did he think that she’d come rushing out of the house merely to bid him a fond farewell? Damn it, she wasn’t going to go racing down the drive to catch him up! Inserting two fingers in her mouth, Tamsin let out an ear-piercing whistle.
‘Good God!’
She had the minor satisfaction of seeing the genuine astonishment on Jordan’s face as he spun round away from the car to face her. It had taken her two years and a lot of coaching from one of her male flatmates to perfect that little accomplishment.
‘Referee football matches in your spare time?’ he enquired as she reached him.
She ignored his comment as unworthy of a reply. Tilting her head, she looked up at him with steady hazel eyes. ‘No,’ she said flatly and without preamble.
He raised a quizzical eyebrow and then smiled lazily. ‘I’ll pick you up in an hour.’
Tamsin looked at him in disbelief. What did it take to snub this man? ‘I don’t want to have dinner with you tonight,’ she enunciated slowly and clearly.
He surveyed her thoughtfully for a second. ‘Why not, Tamsin?’
Didn’t he understand plain English? ‘Because I have no desire to spend the evening in your company.’ Was that blunt enough? ‘Because you’re…’ The words died in her throat, her stomach dipping without warning as the blue eyes sought and held hers.
‘Why not, Tamsin?’ he repeated softly, and in the dark navy depths she read the open, unmistakable challenge. Giving her no time to reply, he folded his muscular frame into the driver’s seat and the powerful car purred into life.
Tamsin watched it disappear down the drive and then, turning, walked mechanically back into the house, instantly aware of the silence, the emptiness. Her eyes alighted on the familiar leather jacket strewn on the floor where it had evidently fallen from the peg. She stooped to retrieve it and then impulsively slipped it over her shoulders, performing a graceful pirouette. Mmm. Not really her style. It dwarfed her completely. She could feel Jordan, smell him…
Glancing self-consciously over her shoulder, she whipped off the jacket and replaced it on the hook. She’d drop it off at Swallow Lodge tomorrow. She grinned. Or take it to a charity shop. Her grin faded abruptly, tiny goose bumps creeping down her spine as she recalled that unspoken challenge in Jordan’s eyes.
Padding barefoot across her bedroom, Tamsin surveyed the sparse contents of the wardrobe. It was a toss-up between a clean pair of jeans and sweatshirt or the russet jersey dress that she’d only packed as an afterthought in her weekend case. Squashing that perverseness that tempted her to elect for the former, knowing she would only regret it later, she removed the dress and slipped it over her head, flicking the silky curtain of freshly washed hair back over her shoulder.
Head on one side, she inspected herself in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. Simple would be the most accurate description of the straight, V-necked dress, she decided thoughtfully. Not simple as in deceptively simple, reeking of an expensive designer tag; simple as in unadventurous, safe.
Unadorned by jewellery, devoid of make-up—her small collection of both were back at her flat—her clear, honey-toned skin flushed pink from the shower, the tiny sprinkle of freckles on her straight nose pronounced, she looked like a fresh-faced, well-scrubbed schoolgirl. She pulled a face. Not exactly a poised, sophisticated woman of the world. More the archetypal girl next door. She grinned. Which, strictly speaking, in Jordan’s case was true.
For a second, she wished with all her heart she had something chic, something sexy to wear, something that would make Jordan do a double take, and then dismissed the idea as absurd. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she slipped on her low-heeled court shoes. Why was she going tonight? She still had time to change her mind…for about the sixtieth time in as many minutes.
She lifted her head and stared into the mirror, registering the high colour in her cheeks, the glow in her large hazel eyes. Why was she really going tonight? a small voice demanded again. She squared her chin resolutely. To prove something to herself. To prove that the spark of physical attraction for Jordan was controllable, to reassure herself that her reaction to him today had been no more than a temporary aberration.
She looked at the girl with the grave, over-earnest expression and burst into mocking laughter. Rats to that. Spare the psychology. She was going out tonight with Jordan because she wanted to. Because whatever her reservations about him, she felt more alive in his company than with any other living person.
She barely had time to absorb this uncomfortable insight when she heard the doorbell chime. She didn’t move, her whole body frozen into inaction. The bell rang again, more insistently, and adrenalin spurted through her in frenetic waves, releasing her from her paralysis.
Grabbing her handbag, she gave her bedroom a swift, backward glance and, curbing her instinct to rush, made her way slowly and sedately down the stairs.
The bell pealed again, echoing stridently through the house.
‘All right, I’m coming!’ She flung open the door, her exasperation forgotten at the sight of Jordan in a formal, expertly tailored dark suit, a red silk tie nestling against his brilliant white shirt. Her stomach muscles cramped. He looked urbane, sophisticated and overpoweringly masculine.
‘I was beginning to think I’d been stood up,’ he drawled, his gaze moving over her in a slow, arrogant sweep.
‘And you would have been scarred for life,’ Tamsin retorted drily, her hackles rising under his appraisal, the expression in his eyes clearly indicating that her appearance was wanting. She doubted whether Jordan knew the meaning of the word ‘rejection’, had ever been plagued by the insecurities that most mere mortals endured.
‘Doesn’t bear thinking about,’ Jordan agreed solemnly. The straight mouth twitched, the blue eyes turning from navy to azure.
Tamsin’s stomach dipped. Swiftly, she turned to slam the front door shut and then picked her way carefully down the gravel path to the sleek car. She gave a small grimace as she looked downwards. Her shoes could have done with a quick polish. Without thinking, she halted and, reverting to her school days, absently rubbed each foot in turn behind the opposite calf. Looking up, she saw the unsuppressed amusement in Jordan’s eyes as he stood by the car, holding the passenger door open for her. She flushed scarlet.
‘Sweet sixteen,’ he murmured. ‘I hope you’ve some ID in your handbag.’
‘Yes, and a clean handkerchief,’ she returned tartly, ‘and I’ve promised to be home by ten.’ She felt anything but sweet, and fourteen would be nearer the mark. Her confidence seemed to be ebbing away by the second.
Slipping into her seat, she stared rigidly ahead, every sense, every inch of her skin aware of Jordan as he joined her.
‘Do you realize that this is the first time you and I have been out to dinner together unchaperoned?’ Jordan drawled as he turned on the ignition and the car moved smoothly down the drive into the lane.
Tamsin shrugged as if the thought had never once occurred to her, keeping her gaze focused strictly ahead.
‘Would you like some music?’
Acquainted with Jordan’s tastes in classical music, and aware of her own emotional response to it, she shook her head. She felt vulnerable enough already. In the silent car, she could hear Jordan’s light, even breathing, could feel her own chest rising and falling in matching rhythm.
‘Was that a yes or a no?’
She gave a noncommittal grunt.
‘And who claimed that the art of conversation was dead?’ Jordan murmured drily. ‘Are you going to spend the entire evening sulking or is it just a quick phase?’
‘I’m not sulking,’ Tamsin flared. ‘Just tired, that’s all.’ And angry. Angry because she felt so ill at ease, defensive, unsure of herself. Angry with Jordan for making her feel like that and angry with herself for letting him. ‘And if you want non-stop inane chatter, buy a parrot.’ She jerked her head round towards him. ‘Why did you invite me out tonight?’ she demanded bluntly, posing the question that had nagged at her from the first. Invite? That was a joke! He’d simply taken her acquiescence for granted.
‘Because it’s my housekeeper’s night off and I hate eating alone,’ he returned smoothly.
‘How sad.’ Poppycock. Jordan was the most self-sufficient person she’d ever met. And neither would he ever want for female companions.
‘Why did you accept?’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Other than out of consideration for my fragile male ego.’
Despite herself, Tamsin’s mouth curved. ‘I was hungry and I make it a policy never to turn down the offer of a free meal,’ she said airily.
‘Just a sweet, old-fashioned girl, hmmm?’ His mouth quirked upwards, revealing strong white teeth, the brilliant blue eyes crinkled at the corners and he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
The rare, rich mellow sound reverberating through the car was too infectious, impossible to resist, and although she didn’t have a clue why Jordan found her last remark so amusing, she could do nothing to stop her own bubble of laughter rising in her throat. Perhaps tonight wasn’t going to be quite such an ordeal after all.
Tamsin picked up her wineglass from the white damask tablecloth and watched Jordan over the rim as he selected a ripe peach from the bowl in front of him. She had declined a dessert, and Jordan, after a faintly wistful glance at the rich chocolate gateaux on the sweet trolley, had elected to have fresh fruit.
Temporarily unobserved, she allowed her gaze to wander over the strong contours of his assured face, the harsh lines softened in the dim lighting, his eyes shadowed to deep blue pools under the thick black lashes. He lifted his head and smiled.
‘Are you sure you won’t change your mind and have something?’
She smiled back. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing,’ she confessed and took a swift sip from her glass, glad when Jordan’s attention returned to his plate.
She had never felt so completely out of her depth in her entire life. She couldn’t cope with this Jordan, this humorous, attentive, considerate stranger, was fighting with every ounce of strength to combat him and that strange, dizzy light-headedness that threatened to engulf her completely, making her take leave of all reason.
She felt as if she were walking towards an abyss—one false step and she would be lost completely. Never before had she been subjected to the full force of Jordan’s charm. She could deal with his sarcasm, his caustic comments, retaliate in any verbal battle, but this was something new altogether, a far more potent weapon.
Her eyes flickered around the exclusive, intimate restaurant whose reputation for food was, she’d discovered, amply justified. The room was full of elegant, attractive women—she’d recognized a well-known model—and yet Jordan hadn’t given them even a cursory glance, had seemed equally oblivious to the number of feminine eyes that had turned to assess him with undisguised interest. He’d seemed immune to the pretty waitress, treating her with courteous disinterest.
Tamsin swallowed. His whole attention had been focused on her, and her alone. He’d made her feel that she was the most fascinating, enchanting, beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, that her conversation was the most scintillating he’d ever heard. Made her feel as exhilarated as if she had just climbed Mount Everest, as if her blood had turned to champagne…
Her eyes dropped to her glass, her fingers twisting round the stem. It was all an act, a well-practised, well-polished act she reminded herself fiercely…and she was not going to fall for it as, doubtlessly, countless women had done so before her.
Her eyes flickered across the table, watching with drugged fascination as the juice from the peach trickled down Jordan’s lean fingers. Unbidden and unwanted, an image of her mouth and lips tasting the sweetness of the juice and the warmth of Jordan’s skin sparked into her head. Her cheeks flamed with colour just as he glanced up.
The blue eyes instantly sought hers, one dark eyebrow raised slightly, and then the well-formed mouth curved. He couldn’t possibly know what was going on in her head, Tamsin told herself swiftly but her colour deepened. He was so damned sure of his own masculine attraction, she thought with a stab of bitter resentment. It would never even occur to him that not all women were gullible enough to be bowled over by his fake charm. Well, she wasn’t going to be taken in by it, was going to fight every inch of the way.
Jordan dipped the tips of his hands in the finger-bowl and wiped them with the napkin provided.
‘Shall we have coffee in the lounge?’
She acquiesced with an easy, casual smile and rose to her feet, instantly aware of Jordan’s hand on her elbow as he guided her through the restaurant into the plush lounge beyond and conscious, too, of the number of female heads that turned to view their progress. She glanced sideways up at Jordan and was shaken by the surge of fierce, possessive pride that tore through her, a pride she reminded herself shortly that she had no right to feel. She was slightly appalled and ashamed, also, to acknowledge that she was actually enjoying being the target of so many envious glances.
She needed to get a grip on herself, desperately needed a respite from Jordan to rearm her defences.
‘I think I’ll just freshen up.’ The powder-room to the left loomed like a sanctuary. She felt relieved and yet oddly bereft as Jordan’s hand fell to his side, acutely conscious of his eyes following her as she headed away from him across the thick carpet.
The powder-room was deserted, and crossing to the row of marble basins, Tamsin switched on a tap and held her wrist under the cool running water, waiting until she could feel her pulse rate return to normal. Extracting a comb from her bag, she ran it through her silky waves and then stiffened in bemusement as she saw her reflection in the full-length mirror.
It must be a trick of the light…The much-maligned dress, looking nearer gold than reddish brown, picked out the golden glints in her hair. The soft material hinted enticingly at the curves it shielded, flattering her in a way she hadn’t thought possible. Her skin glowed with vitality, her eyes under the thick sweep of dark lashes were luminous, mysterious pools.
In the past few hours she seemed to have undergone some miraculous transformation. Far from the awkward, uncertain girl next door, she looked confident, vibrant, sexy, had the indefinable aura of a woman completely secure in her ability to attract and hold male attention.
A cold shudder crawled down her spine. It was Jordan who had been the catalyst, had wrought this metamorphosis. He could reduce her to a gauche teenager, a sullen, inarticulate dolt, could spark her into a spitting virago…and tonight with a few smiles and a pinch of insincere, wordless flattery…
Her small jaw clenched. How could she be so weak as to let him manipulate her like this, influence her so dramatically? To allow her own moods to be so completely dependent on his? Ye gods, she was allowing him to treat her like a mindless lump of putty!
Picking up her handbag, teeth gritted together, she marched out into the lounge. She’d spotted Jordan immediately. The lounge was dimly lit, was wall-to-wall with attractive, successful men and yet it was as if Jordan was sitting in his own personal spotlight.
She was suddenly so angry she wanted to scream and yet she wasn’t even a hundred per cent sure why. Jordan had seen her, half-rising to his feet as she approached, a welcoming smile hovering on the straight mouth. It would almost be worth causing a scene just to see his reaction. Her mouth twisted wryly. He would simply deal with it with his usual aplomb and unshakeable assurance. Nothing would ever faze Jordan, she thought bitterly, certainly not a mere hysterical female.
‘White. No sugar.’ He quirked an eyebrow at her as she sank into the deep, comfortable chair drawn to the low table.
‘Thank you,’ she said coolly. As she took hold of the proffered cup, his hand brushed hers. Was that deliberate or accidental? The physical contact had been minimal and yet it was as if she’d stuck her hand into an electric socket. Drinking her coffee swiftly, she deliberately turned her head away from Jordan and watched the couples on the dance floor as they moved languorously to the easily recognizable melodies issuing from the small band on the rostrum. Unconsciously, she began to tap her foot in time to the slow rhythm.
‘Would you like to dance?’ Jordan asked softly.
She wanted to refuse, her stomach dipping at the thought of the inevitable intimacy involved in dancing together. If the band would play something a little faster, less blatantly romantic…Before she had time to voice her disinclination, he reached out a hand and drew her gently to her feet. In vain, she tried to ignore the warm fingers curved around her palm, tried without success to mentally distance herself as his hand dropped to the curve of her waist and he drew her towards him.
She focused her eyes at a point above his shoulder, but it was impossible not to be aware of the square, uncompromising jawline, the tenacious, stubborn chin on a level with her forehead.
The hand on her back increased its pressure, drawing her even closer into the circle of his arms as he guided her skilfully across the floor. She felt his jaw brush the top of her head, could feel the warmth of his body against hers, and her resistance collapsed, her senses beginning to reel.
She was floating off into a rosy haze of unreality. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to allow her head to fall on the accommodating hard shoulder, tilting her face up towards his.
She wanted to lift a hand and gently explore the planes of that strong, commanding face, to feel the warm texture of his skin beneath her palm. Her gaze lingered on the firm, straight mouth, barely inches away from hers, and her eyes flickered half-closed. But more than anything in the world, she wanted…Oh, my God! It must be the wine…she wasn’t used to it…rarely drank except for the occasional half pint of beer with Tom…oh, no! The rosy bubble exploded in her ears.
‘Tom!’ She didn’t realize that she had spoken his name out loud until she felt Jordan stiffen against her. How could she have simply forgotten Tom? Shame and recrimination tore through her as she came to an abrupt halt. How could she have done that to her closest friend, left him hanging around for hours?
‘Tom?’ Jordan enquired coolly. His hold on her relaxed, his arms falling to his side.
‘I was supposed…we had arranged…’ she faltered. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth. ‘I didn’t realize it was so late,’ she tried again, forcing a casual lightness into her voice. ‘Tom’s expecting me back at the flat tonight…he’ll be worried…’
‘There’s a phone in the foyer. Call him and explain where you are.’
Tamsin hesitated, puzzled by the sudden intensity in Jordan’s eyes that was at odds with the drawling tone. Then deciding she must have imagined it, she shook her head.
‘No.’ What did she say if he did pick up the phone, always assuming Tom wasn’t in bed or hadn’t given up on her and gone out anyway? Sorry for standing you up tonight but I had a better offer and went to Andre’s with Jordan? She cringed inwardly. Much better to grovel in person. ‘I really ought to be getting back to the flat…’
‘I see.’
There was a wealth of meaning in the two terse words but Tamsin didn’t even attempt to analyse them, too bewildered by the mask that had slammed down over Jordan’s face. Even his eyes seemed to have changed colour to a bleak, forbidding grey. Then before she had time to register what was happening, let alone protest, she found herself being herded off the dance floor and propelled unceremoniously through the tables and chairs to the door.
‘I take it we’re leaving?’ she enquired acidly, shrugging off his hand resentfully as they emerged into the cool night air. So much for urbanity, courtesy, consideration. They were superficial veneers that Jordan donned and shed as easily as he did his shirts. And his fingers had damned well hurt, pressing into the sensitive skin of her upper arm like a steel vice.
‘Thug. Ill-mannered lout,’ she muttered and shivered.
‘Why didn’t you bring a jacket with you? Didn’t it occur to you that it might be cold when we came out?’
Tamsin glared up at Jordan as they walked towards the car.
‘No, it damn well didn’t!’
That would have been too sensible. And common sense, rationality, reason, were things that always seemed to be in short supply when she was in his company.
Mechanically, she clambered into the car and sank back in the seat, conscious of her feeling of utter deflation. The past few hours had been a dream. This was normality. Back to the status quo with Jordan.
She groaned silently. What had possessed her to come out to dinner with him? How could she simply have forgotten her prior arrangement with Tom? she berated herself yet again. She frowned with sudden disquiet. She hadn’t once thought about Andrew or her mother this evening, either…
Her heart gave a slow, sickening lurch, her throat constricting painfully. She hadn’t thought about anyone or anything but Jordan tonight. Because, she thought dully, when she was with him nothing and nobody else in the world existed.