Save My Soul (9 page)

He didn't answer.

Maggie stepped forward. “This … thing between Jordon and me has nothing to do with you.”

Carlos looked over his shoulder, blinked and returned his attention to the knotted wires.

“Jordon and I are two very different people who should steer clear of each other. Like oil and water, you know?” She tried to laugh to lighten the mood. The sound landed hollow, even in her ears. “I wanted you to know in case you thought we were fighting about you.”

He looked again, slid the headphones over his ears and crawled into bed.

• • •

Maggie couldn't hate Jordon any more than he already hated himself. He was cold, calculating, and manipulative, and he used every one of those miserable personality traits to lure Maggie here — and then to keep her away. If it hadn't been for that damn belly dance …

He squished a pile of drippy yellow eggs underneath a metal spatula.

She stirred something in him that had disappeared since Bethany walked away with half his net worth. Maggie stirred something in him, all right — something in his pants — and the adolescent reaction disgusted him. Not too long ago, he sat at a linen-covered table, sipping Grey Goose and tonic, hoping he'd drink enough and she'd drink enough to end up naked together in his hotel room. Of course, the good doctor didn't drink. She danced, and he ended up in bed alone.

The next morning, he told himself he didn't care. She wasn't his type and he didn't need another woman leading him down the road to financial ruin. He explained away his physical reaction with the help of words like ‘hussy'. And life went on. He signed new clients, checked on old clients and negotiated contracts worth more than two hundred million dollars that Bethany couldn't touch.

Things that remained elusive to most men fell at his feet: money, power, and women. He spent the money, wielded the power, but pushed the gold diggers away. All the while, he fantasized about Maggie from a safe distance.

Bringing her to North Carolina amounted to a desperate and dangerous tactic. Desperate, because Jordon hoped she was what Carlos needed. Dangerous, because she was what Jordon wanted.

He pushed the crunchy brown eggs onto a platter and cut the power to the grill. His mood was as dark and cold as the coffee in his mug. He swallowed it anyway.

Blaming Bethany for his current bitterness grew old. She didn't seem to be scarred by the divorce. In fact, she moved on quickly and completely. Last he heard, she married the louse she cheated with … and they were pregnant. He imagined how round and lush she looked carrying around the proof of her indiscretion.

Bethany had never wanted a child with him, preferring to blame his schedule for their lack of success: “You have to be home to have sex, and you have to have sex to make a baby.” Be that as it may, Jordon was glad they never procreated. The world could only handle so many spoiled, evil spawn.

As if on cue, Maggie reappeared. Her dark, damp hair spiked off a forehead that wrinkled with what Jordon could only assume was disgust, and her saucer-shaped eyes appeared flat and worn.

“Are you trying to undo everything?” she asked.

Not everything. Only the buttons on her blouse. His journey started innocently enough, noting her discontent, but when he sloped down her regal nose to her pouty lips, the road took a perilous detour. Dropping his gaze off her upturned chin, he let it caress her long neck and then linger in the dip of her throat. He knew the sightseeing should end there, but the warning sounds in his head were no match for the rising heat in his lower half.

“I'm afraid Carlos thinks we're fighting because of him, and if we don't do something drastic, we're going to be right back to fishing him out of the lake.”

Jordon agreed. He tossed the spatula into the sink and watched her body jolt at the sound of metal clanging against metal. She seemed to sense the danger and straightened her back. The rigid posture forced her breasts against her T-shirt, and the rest of Jordon's body reacted as swiftly and violently as the hard-on in his pants.

He charged her, closing the gap in three strides. “How's this for drastic?”

Wrapping both arms around her waist, he pinned her against his chest and covered her parted lips with his. His momentum forced him forward until her back pressed against the fridge, where he welcomed the extra support. On a volcanic wave of need, he plunged his tongue into her warm, wet mouth, giving in to temptation.

Maggie didn't fight him. Instead, she raised her smooth leg alongside the clenched muscles of his thigh and laced her tongue with his. She danced her hands over his bare back, setting off sparks beneath his skin, and then she clawed him with her nails.

The sting elicited a throaty roar.

Hearing his own desire, Jordon's need turned primal. Her pulsing, swirling tongue teased him with the promise of hot, earthy sex. He swallowed against her open mouth, tasting all she had to offer — warmth like the sun, a rush like the wind and wetness like the rain.

She arched her back and rocked against his groin, wrapping her leg tighter around his hip, making him want more than he possibly deserved.

It'd been so long … too long.

Dragging his lips across her jaw, Jordon sunk his teeth into her lobe. She moaned, and the sound of pleasure urged him on, deeper and harder. He pressed a palm to the pointed tip of her breast, brushing back and forth. And when she moaned again, he felt woozy, his head spinning as he dragged his mouth back to capture hers.

Jordon worked through the stifling heat to slip his hand beneath her shirt, moving over the smooth skin of her stomach, inching closer and closer until his fingertips brushed the bare curve of breast. While his heart pounded in his chest, he teased her nipple, flicking with his thumb.

She opened her mouth wider and knotted long arms around his neck. As her hands massaged his scalp, her leg clamped around his lower half, and all he could think about was sex. Against his fridge.

His thoughts hovered over them like a depraved observer with visions of driving deep while her long limbs draped and gripped his body. It would've been hot, had it not been so desperate.

• • •

When Jordon backed away, Maggie stayed pressed against the refrigerator, mostly for balance. She didn't trust herself to walk on solid ground after that earthquake. Lowering a foot to the floor, she pressed fingers to her bruised lips.

“That was very drastic,” she said, startled by the shake in her voice. She watched his chest convulse, and worried he might hyperventilate too. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

Confusion set in. Although, she hadn't initiated the contact, he obviously thought she'd done something wrong. “I'm sorry. I should've behaved better.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “You behaved pretty damn well.”

“But you're upset. I can tell. Your eyes are … dark.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes.” She felt like crying. A ball of emotion sat on her chest and made it hard to breathe. And yet, she didn't feel at risk of hyperventilating.

What was happening to her?

“You should be scared.” He crossed his strong arms over the tight curls scattered across his chest, but it didn't help Maggie feel better. He was still shirtless and very aroused.

Her confusion turned to panic before this unreadable man. No intuition, no empathy, no psychic premonitions or energy shields seemed powerful enough to protect her. Every false sense of security she relied upon for the last twenty-eight years failed.

“You're in over your head, Maggie. Carlos needs help, but you do, too.” He poked a finger at her through the charged air.

He could've hit her and she wouldn't have felt a thing. “Why do I need help? I don't understand.”

Grunting, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind.”

She was getting used to living with the unrest. Dark emotions quickened and strengthened until they overshadowed her trademark optimism. “No. Tell me why. Why should I be scared? Why do I need help?” Her body trembled, and her nails bit into her palm.

He opened his eyes and stared at her, a blank stare made worse by his rigid posture. How could he dam his emotions while her heart thrashed and a simple breath was torture?

Pushing a palm over her convulsing heart, Maggie chose to end the torment. “Forget it. I don't care. I'm done here.”

Bare feet slapped the hardwoods as she raced to the front door, wanting to run far away from Jordon. But when a door slammed above her, she remembered why she was here. Carlos.

How much of the argument had he heard?

Frozen at the front door with a trembling hand on the knob, she realized she wasn't even sure where to go. Barefoot and crying, someone was bound to pick her up and admit her to the nearest mental hospital.

Maggie leaned against the door and filled her lungs with air. After what happened in the kitchen, she couldn't imagine Jordon balking at her request for him to hire another therapist, so she'd start there. Once she knew Carlos was taken care of, she could leave this chaos behind.

Making her way back into the kitchen for Round Two, Maggie dreaded facing Jordon. But he was gone when she got there. One glance at the refrigerator, and she remembered the way he touched, the way he tasted. Her body burned at the memory of those delirious moments before his mood soured.

They were nothing like oil and water.

She scanned the lake landscape beyond the dining room and settled her gaze on the end of the pier. Jordon stood straight and tall like Poseidon. She feared another confrontation, but the open, aching part of her wanted words to make things right.

When Maggie reached the wooden planks that hovered inches off the murky lake, her goose pimples returned. Such dramatic events surrounded this body of water, this house and that man.

Jordon shoved hands into his short pockets and pinned his eyes on the horizon. “You're under no obligation to stay. I won't hold you to the contract.”

Maggie gulped. “Okay.”

“And I'm sorry,” he said with a shake of his head.

When he looked at her and held her gaze, she felt his silent plea. “What's going on, Jordon? Tell me.”

The muscles of his back flexed as he bent and sat on the edge of the pier, dropping his feet into the water. He sat there for the longest time, his shoulders slumping further with every breath. “I haven't been with a woman since Bethany left me, mostly because I've convinced myself all women are a threat to my success and sanity.”

No matter the reason, it was hard to believe a handsome, single, successful man who rocked a body like his wasn't enjoying an active post-divorce sex life. The idea that Maggie's middle-aged mother had more sex than Jordon disgusted her. And yet, his struggle with intimacy wasn't unusual. “Lots of people go through dry spells after a divorce.”

“Yeah, well, in case you didn't notice, my dry spell is pushing me over the edge.” He dropped his head to his hands. “I'm so sorry, Maggie.”

She walked toward him and settled by his side, her elbow bumping his bare skin as her feet dipped into the cool water. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not. I treated you like a slab of meat.”

Maybe, but the mere memory of his intensity turned her on, and the heat between her legs warned her against reminiscing with Jordon by her side. Her impulsive streak couldn't be trusted.

“In case you didn't notice, I didn't mind,” she said, smiling, hoping the admission delivered with humor would brighten his outlook and diffuse some of her heat.

His cheeks caved and his dark brows pinched together over his nose. “Would you mind if I did it again?”

She felt winded. “I, uh … ”

He looked at her, and the muscles in his face softened. “I know you want to leave. Hell, you probably should leave, but God help me, I can't stop myself from wanting you to stay.”

Maggie raised a hand to her mouth to hide her shock.

“And it has nothing to do with Carlos.” Jordon stared at her lips. “Tell me you feel it, too, Maggie. There is something very powerful between us.”

She laid a hand on his fabulous thigh and fought back a whimper. “I do. I find you terribly attractive.” She winced at the honesty and the vulnerability in her voice. “We obviously have … chemistry, but I'm here to help Carlos.”

“Right.” Jordon looked back over the lake and leaned forward, tossing a handful of water into the air. “Why can't you be here for both?”

She gulped and stared at an expanding circle of water left over from the splash. “I don't know. It seems … seedy.”

“There's nothing seedy about two consenting adults enjoying each other's company.” He smiled, a beautiful soul-melting smile. “I want you, Maggie, and when I want something, I get it. Morally ambiguous or not. That's just the kind of guy I am.”

With his smile burning a hole in her heart, she nodded. If this much passion and magnetism existed between them when they were holding back, she could only imagine the combustion when they stopped fighting.

She matched the flirtatious curve of his lips. “My mother raised me to be open minded to situations other people find morally ambiguous.”

“Like plural marriage?” he teased.

“Exactly.” Her smile broadened, but then she groaned. Her mother's entanglement with Paul wasn't really funny.

Jordon kicked up a gentle swell of water and looked her over, slowly, closely, like he was reading the pages of a sacred book. “But you aren't interested in a life of moral ambiguity, are you?” His warm hand slipped up her arm, skirted her shoulder and rested on her neck.

“No.”

“What are you interested in, Maggie?”

She struggled to think straight against the startling sensation of his thumb sliding back and forth over her bottom lip. “Saving my soul.”

He smiled again. “Will you save mine first?”