Jordan St Claire: Dark and Dangerous

Stephanie eyed him in frustration. Although she had to admit she was relieved Jordan was no longer standing quite so close to her. Or touching her. Or making her completely aware of the thick hardness of his arousal. A physical response that had been undoubtedly because of her!

She ran the dampness of her palms down denim-clad thighs. ‘I’m still willing to cook you that steak if you’re hungry?’ she said huskily.

‘That would just be feeding the wrong appetite, Stephanie,’ he jibed back.

‘Your brother is paying me to take care of your leg, not to go to bed with you!’ she exclaimed.

He shrugged. ‘That’s a pity, when I’ve decided that right now I need a woman in my bed more than I need a physiotherapist.’ Jordan knew he had never needed physical release more than he did at that moment!

‘Don’t you have a girlfriend you could call?’ Stephanie asked curiously.

His face hardened. ‘Not any more, no.’

Stephanie looked at him searchingly. Because his parents had divorced when he was a child, Jordan Simpson had never made any secret of his own aversion to the married state. But that hadn’t prevented him from having a constant stream of women in his life. Beautiful women. Sophisticated women. Women as unlike Stephanie as it was possible for them to be. Which was the reason she knew that his interest in her wasn’t genuine.

‘Why not? There must be plenty you could call who would come running.’

He gave a humourless smile. ‘Look at me, Stephanie,’ he demanded. ‘Really look at me,’ he pressed.

Stephanie had already looked. Several times! And, yes, he was obviously thinner, gaunter, grimmer than he had been six months ago, but as far as she was concerned none of that detracted from the fact that he was a compellingly handsome man.

‘What am I looking for?’

Jordan gave an impatient snort. ‘What was it you called me earlier? A cripple, wasn’t it?’

She gasped at the bitterness in his tone. ‘No, what I actually said was that you obviously believe yourself to be a cripple,’ she corrected firmly.

‘Maybe because that’s what I am?’ he said harshly. ‘I certainly don’t want any woman to be with me just because she feels sorry for me.’

‘That’s ridiculous—’

‘This from the woman who just refused me?’ he taunted.

Stephanie rolled her eyes. ‘We both know you weren’t being serious.’

‘Do we?’

‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘You were just trying to make me leave.’

‘Is it working?’

‘No,’ she told him firmly, determined to ignore the traitorous responses of her own body to this conversation; her breasts felt full and aching, and there was a burning warmth between her thighs.

Knowing that this man was deliberately playing with her in an effort to make her leave made absolutely no difference to the way Stephanie’s body responded to him. ‘How do you think Lucan will react if I have to call him and tell him I had to leave because you were sexually harassing me?’ She looked at him challengingly.

Jordan gave a feral grin. ‘He would probably be relieved to know that something has aroused my interest at last.’

Remembering how deeply concerned Lucan St Claire had been about Jordan the previous week, Stephanie thought that might be the case, too!

‘Aroused being the operative word,’ Jordan jeered, and had the pleasure of seeing the blush that re-entered those creamy cheeks.

Stephanie McKinley was really quite beautiful, he realised with a frown, her face impishly lovely, her body feminine and shapely. And his fingers actually itched to release that red-cinnamon-gold hair from its confining braid. He could imagine all that hair splayed out across her luscious nakedness as he feasted hungrily on the fullness of her breasts, before going lower.

He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, either, if he continued to allow his imagination free rein. In fact a cold shower sounded as if it might be a good idea! ‘I’ll wish you goodnight, Stephanie.’ He gave her another lazy grin before he turned and left the kitchen.

Heading straight for that cold shower.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHERE have you been?’ Jordan demanded the following morning, as Stephanie unlocked the kitchen door and let herself back into the house accompanied by a gust of chilling wind, the plastic shopping bags she carried in her hands necessitating she gently nudge the door closed behind her with her foot.

The cold shower Jordan had taken the night before had briefly succeeded in dampening some of his arousal. Unfortunately that arousal had returned with a vengeance the moment he had heard Stephanie making her way up the stairs to use one of the bedrooms for the night.

Because Jordan could no longer negotiate the stairs, Lucan had had the dining room converted into a bedroom before Jordan had moved in, and he’d lain on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, aware of nothing but the throb of his own arousal and easily able to imagine Stephanie McKinley stripping off in the room above his. Jordan had got up to impatiently pull on his clothes before going back out to the kitchen. In the circumstances, the nearly full bottle of red wine on the table had seemed very appealing!

Which had turned out not to be such a good idea on an empty stomach. Consequently, Jordan was like a bear with a sore head this morning, his temples aching almost as much as another part of his anatomy had continued to do for most of the night.

He had already made a pot of strong coffee and brought it to the kitchen table, and had drunk half a cup of the rich and flavoursome brew before he’d become aware of the silence in the rest of the house. Unable to go up the stairs himself, to check on whether Stephanie had left or not, he had instead looked out of the kitchen window to see that her car had gone from the driveway. Leading Jordan to believe that she had taken his advice and left, after all.

Which, strangely, hadn’t given him as much satisfaction as he had thought it would. Making him wonder if Lucan could be right when he said Jordan had been here on his own for too long. And now, if he actually felt pleased at the return of the physiotherapist his interfering big brother had hired without even consulting him, he knew he probably had!

‘Where does it look like I’ve been?’ Stephanie said sarcastically—a question that required no answer as she dumped the heavy bags of shopping on top of the wooden table before removing her jacket to reveal she wore a yellow fitted T-shirt today, with those low-slung faded blue jeans.

Another short T-shirt, that once again revealed a tantalising glimpse of her flat abdomen and clung to what Jordan was pretty sure were completely bare breasts above …

‘Why don’t you pour me some of that delicious-smelling coffee while I find the croissants I bought for our breakfast?’ she suggested lightly, and she began to look through the bags, that thick braid of red- cinnamon-gold hair falling forward over her shoulder as she did so.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he murmured dryly, and he leant back in the wooden chair to snag a clean mug from the side before sitting forward to lift the coffee pot and pour the hot and aromatic brew into both mugs.

‘It was a request, not an order,’ she sighed.

Jordan raised dark brows as he placed her mug down on the other side of the table, frowning his irritation as he realised he was actually enjoying having his verbal sparring partner back in the house. ‘I telephoned Lucan last night,’ he informed her coolly.

She continued to search through the bags for the croissants. ‘I know.’

Jordan became very still as his gaze narrowed on her suspiciously. ‘You know?’

‘Yep.’ Stephanie smiled her satisfaction as she found the box of freshly baked pastries and took it out of the bag, putting it on the table along with the butter and honey she had obviously bought to go with them. ‘I telephoned and spoke to him before I went out shopping. He didn’t seem too happy about the fact that you woke him up at two o’clock this morning to tell him how much you didn’t appreciate him sending me here.’

She lifted the rest of the bags unconcernedly down onto the floor to be unpacked later, moving to take out the plates and knives they needed to eat the croissants before sitting down at the table in the chair opposite his.

Jordan’s already frayed temper hadn’t been improved the night before by his consumption of two-thirds of a bottle of red wine, and he hadn’t even noticed what time it was when the idea to telephone Lucan and take his temper out on his brother had occurred to him. Lucan’s growled responses to Jordan’s complaints had left him in little doubt as to his big brother’s displeasure at the call.

‘Then maybe he should have thought of that before he sent you here without asking me!’ he snarled.

Stephanie gave a dismissive shrug as she helped herself to one of the deliciously buttery croissants. ‘He obviously completely underestimated just how rude and unreasonable you’ve become.’

Jordan’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘No doubt you took great pleasure in enlightening him.’

‘I didn’t need to after you had called him at such a ridiculous hour to complain.’ Stephanie took a bite of the butter-and honey-covered croissant, almost groaning at the sensory pleasure she experienced. After being assailed with the delicious aroma of the croissants, first in the supermarket and then on the drive back to the gatehouse; they tasted just as wonderful as she had imagined they would. ‘Try one of the croissants, Jordan,’ she advised him. ‘They might help to get rid of your hangover,’ she added naughtily, before taking another delicious bite.

It had been obvious from the used wine glass and the completely empty bottle of red wine she had found left on the table this morning that Jordan must have returned to the kitchen some time during the night. From the look of the dark shadows under his eyes and the pallor in his cheeks the red wine had done little to dispel whatever pain had been keeping him awake.

Although he had at least brushed his hair and shaved this morning, his cleanly shaven jaw revealing its perfect squareness and the beguiling cleft in the centre. A beguilement that Stephanie resisted responding to by concentrating on the fact that he was also wearing a clean white T-shirt and faded jeans, hopefully meaning he wasn’t completely bereft of the social niceties, after all. Although she wouldn’t like to bet on it!

Stephanie hadn’t slept that well herself the night before, aware as she had been of Jordan’s presence somewhere in the house, and discovering this morning that there was nothing she could eat for her breakfast—not even bread for toast!—hadn’t improved her mood.

A quick telephone call to Lucan St Claire, to confirm that she had arrived safely and so far hadn’t been bodily thrown out into the Gloucestershire countryside, had resulted in his informing her that Jordan had already telephoned him during the night with the same news. Although in Jordan’s case it had obviously been in the nature of a complaint. A complaint that the older St Claire brother didn’t appear in the least concerned about. In fact, his comment had been the one Jordan had predicted—that any response from Jordan was better than the uninterest he normally showed to everything and everyone nowadays.

Stephanie waited until Jordan had taken one of the croissants onto his plate, smothered it in butter and taken a bite before speaking again. ‘I decided to refrain from telling your brother that you had decided on sexual innuendo as the best way of getting rid of me.’

Jordan continued to slowly chew the first mouthful of food he’d had for a couple of days, swallowing the buttery pastry before answering her. ‘Only because you knew Lucan wouldn’t be interested.’

She shrugged. ‘Or maybe I’m just saving that complaint for another day.’

Jordan decided there was a lot more to Stephanie McKinley than that unusually coloured hair and a taut and supple body. It surprised him how curious he was to know exactly what that lot more was.

He leant back in his chair. ‘I should have asked last night whether or not there’s a Mr McKinley waiting for you at home.’

She glanced down at her bare left hand. ‘No ring.’

‘Not all the married women I know wear a wedding ring,’ Jordan drawled.

‘That’s probably because the married women you meet don’t want you to know that they’re married,’ Stephanie pointed out.

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t get involved with married women.’

‘No?’

His mouth firmed. ‘No.’

‘Because of your parents’ divorce?’

Jordan drew in a sharp breath. ‘And what do you know about my parents’ divorce?’

She shrugged as she stood up to place her empty plate neatly inside the dishwasher. ‘Only that during interviews you use it as an excuse for never having considered marriage yourself.’

‘It happens to be a fact, not an excuse.’ He pushed his empty plate away to stand up abruptly.

Stephanie knew she had annoyed Jordan intensely with her mention of his parents’ divorce. Not quite the reaction she’d wanted from him, but it was probably better than no reaction at all!

She gave a knowing smile. ‘I can’t imagine any woman ever daring to be unfaithful to the famous Jordan Simpson.’

His eyes glittered a bright, intense gold. ‘My father was unfaithful, not my mother.’

Reason enough, Stephanie decided, for Jordan never to know that she was being named—albeit completely falsely—as the ‘other woman’ in an ex-patient’s divorce!

He thrust a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be in my study for the rest of the morning.’

‘Doing what?’ She moved so that she was standing in front of the door that led out into the hallway.

He frowned at her. ‘None of your damned business!’

‘Maybe I could help?’

‘And maybe you could stay the hell out of my face!’ He glared down at her.

Maybe getting in his face hadn’t been such a good idea, Stephanie recognised uncomfortably, as she became aware of the heat of Jordan’s body and the glittering intensity of those mesmerising gold-coloured eyes. ‘When I spoke to Lucan this morning, he mentioned that there’s a heated indoor pool at Mulberry Hall …’

Jordan raised a brow. ‘And?’

‘And a swim might be fun.’

Those gold eyes hardened. ‘Am I right in thinking it might also be regarded as good exercise to strengthen the muscles in my leg?’

Stephanie felt the guilty heat of colour in her cheeks and her expression became defensive. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

He shrugged those wide and powerful shoulders. ‘Absolutely nothing.’ His mouth thinned. ‘If I wanted to exercise the muscles in my leg. Which I don’t,’ he added emphatically.

She sighed. ‘Why don’t you?’

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘Get out of my way, Stephanie.’

She gave a firm shake of her head, her chin raised. She refused to move. ‘Not until you explain to me why you don’t even seem to want to try to get back the full mobility of your leg.’

A red haze seemed to pass in front of Jordan’s eyes as this woman’s persistent questions managed to pierce his armour once again. ‘Don’t be so stupid!’

‘So you do want to get back the use of your leg?’

‘What I want and what I’ve got are two different things,’ he said pointedly.

Stephanie put a hand on his arm. ‘Then prove me wrong and come swimming with me this morning.’

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