Much More Than a Mistress (8 page)

He wasn't sure why her being home today had any bearing on a call he made yesterday. “Well, I did.”

“So, is he inviting me?”

Hadn't he just said he was? “Mom, are you okay?”

“I jush wish you would ansher me!” she slurred.

No wonder she wasn't making any sense; she was
hammered. He wondered if things had gone south with her latest man-friend, the filthy rich baron. Was she wallowing in self-pity?

“Yes, Mom, Nathan is inviting you. As I told you yesterday, you'll be getting an invitation any day. Probably tomorrow.”

“And Mark will be there?”

Mark? “You mean Max? Nathan's son?”

“That's what I shed.”

He sighed. There was no point continuing a conversation she wouldn't even remember in the morning. “Mom, I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

She mumbled something incoherent then hung up. He shook his head and dropped his phone on his desk. That was weird. His mother drank socially, but he'd never known her to get good and sauced. First time for everything, he supposed.

He turned back to his computer and tried to concentrate on his work, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Jane. If he knew women—and he liked to believe that he did—she was probably sitting home alone, with a gallon of chocolate ice cream and a spoon, watching a chick flick and having a pity party.

Well, that wasn't his problem. He couldn't force her to have a good time. Of course, if he hadn't insisted that they go to lunch, she wouldn't have seen her ex and she might actually be enjoying her birthday. So in essence, it was his fault.

He cursed and tossed down his pen. She was miserable and he was to blame, so of course there was only one thing he could do.

Make it right.

J
ane wasn't expecting anyone to stop by, so she was surprised when, at seven-thirty, someone knocked on her door. She dropped the spoon into the ice cream container, set it on the coffee table and paused the movie she'd been watching. It was probably one of her siblings stopping by to say happy birthday. And while normally it annoyed her when they stopped by unannounced, she could use a bit of cheering up tonight.

Clad in a U of T sweatshirt, fleece pajama bottoms and fuzzy slippers, she shuffled to the door and pulled it open—and for an instant she thought her eyes must be playing tricks on her. Or maybe she'd fallen asleep on the couch and she was only dreaming that Jordan was standing in the hall outside her apartment door.

He was still dressed in his work clothes, and carrying a small square bakery box. It never ceased to amaze her
how truly beautiful he was, although for the life of her she couldn't imagine what he was doing here.

He took in her shabby clothes, his gaze settling on her feet, and said, “Nice slippers.”

Thank goodness she hadn't washed off her makeup yet. He probably would have taken one look at her, turned and run. “I wasn't expecting company.”

“Despite promising me that you would go out and have fun, I kept having this mental picture of you sacked out in front of the television watching a chick flick, drowning your sorrows in a gallon of chocolate ice cream.”

And he cared enough to stop by and make sure she was okay? First the tour, then lunch, now a visit to her apartment? Maybe she
was
dreaming.

“Am I right?” he asked.

Not exactly, but freakishly close. “It's a pint of caramel nut swirl and I wouldn't exactly call
The Terminator
a chick flick.”

“The point is, you're here, and not out celebrating.”

Yeah, and how did he even know where “here” was? Probably the same way he knew it was her birthday. The HR office had all of her personal information.

“You know,” he said. “I dropped everything to race over here and save you from an evening of self-pity. The least you could do is invite me in.”

Right, that would be the polite thing to do, even though the idea of Jordan in her apartment made her pulse skip.

“Sorry, of course.” She pulled the door open and stepped out of the way, doing a quick mental inventory of her living room and kitchen, but any incriminating evidence was on her desk in the spare bedroom. There was nothing else in the apartment linking her to Edwin Associates. Not even in her bedroom. Not that he would be going in there. “Please, come in.”

He stepped into her living room, and she closed the door behind him. He handed her the box. “This is for you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Jordan took off his coat and hung it on the coat tree by the door. Then he did the same with his suit jacket. She stood watching, unsure of what to say or do. The whole point of the investigation was to catch his interest, and clearly she had. Now she didn't have a clue what to do about it, how to take control of the situation. He was too much man for a woman like her.

He loosened his tie, undid the top button on his shirt and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. He was making himself right at home, and she was a jumble of nerves. Her apartment wasn't what anyone would consider spacious, but with him there it felt downright tiny.

He nodded to the box that she was still clutching. “Aren't you going to open it?”

Of course, where were her manners? She slid the top open, and inside was a mini cake. “A birthday cake?”

“I figured you probably didn't have one, and everyone should have a cake on their birthday.”

That was the sweetest thing anyone had done for her in a very long time. She hadn't heard word one from her own family—the people who were
supposed
to care about her—and this man who she barely knew had gone above and beyond to make the day special. “Thank you, Jordan.”

“I'll bet that would go really well with a cup of coffee.”

A cup of coffee was the least she could do. “Is French pressed coffee okay?”

“Of course.”

She carried the box to the kitchen and set it on the counter, then she put the kettle on to boil and got out the coffee press and beans.

“Did you just move in here?” Jordan asked, gazing around her sparsely decorated living room.

“Nine months ago. I just haven't gotten around to doing much with it. I sold most of my furniture when I moved in with Drake, so I didn't have much of my own stuff when I moved out.” She measured out the beans and set the grinder on Coarse, and when it was finished poured the ground coffee into the press. When the water started boiling she poured it in and set the timer on the oven for four minutes.

“This is good,” he said.

She turned to find him leaning in the kitchen doorway eating what was left of her caramel swirl ice cream.

“It's my favorite,” she said.

He took another bite and licked the spoon. “I hope you don't mind sharing.”

“I have three more pints in the freezer.” He could eat her ice cream anytime. And watching him, the way his tongue swept over the spoon, was giving her a hot flash, so she busied herself cutting them each a slice of cake.

“So, have you thought anymore about the reunion?” he asked.

“I haven't changed my mind, if that's what you mean.” The timer beeped and she pulled two cups down from the cupboard.

“It doesn't seem fair that you should have to miss it just because your ex is there.”

“Maybe I'll go next year.” She pressed the plunger down then poured the coffee, adding a dash of creamer to his and leaving hers black. Picking up both cups, she swiveled around to hand him one, unaware that he was standing right behind her. She stopped so abruptly that the coffee sloshed over the brim of both cups and landed—of course—on him.

“Oh my God, I am
so
sorry.”

He looked down at the stain spreading across the front of his shirt. “I'm beginning to think you're doing this on purpose.”

She set the cups down and grabbed the towel hanging from the oven door handle. She ran it under the faucet, wrung out the excess water, and handed it to him. At least this time she hadn't lobbed an entire cup at him. “I didn't know you were right behind me.”

“Don't worry about it.” He dabbed at the stain, but it was already setting in. That was another of his shirts she had probably ruined. A few more days with her and he was going to need a new wardrobe.

“Maybe if we throw it in the washing machine right now it won't stain,” she said.

His mouth tilted into one of those adorable grins. “You know, if you wanted to get me out of my clothes, all you had to do was ask.”

 

Did he really think she was trying to get him naked? “I wasn't… I didn't mean—”

“Jane, I'm
kidding.
” He tossed the towel onto the counter. “I came here to cheer you up and instead you're a nervous wreck.”

He was right. He had been nothing but nice to her, and she was a bundle of nerves. What did she think he was going to do? Attack her? Why couldn't she relax when she was with him?

“I'm sorry,” she said, feeling like a complete dope.

“Maybe I should just go.”

“No!” She said it so forcefully he flinched. Was there no end to her making a complete ass of herself? She took a deep breath. “Of course you can go if you want to, but you don't have to.”

“What is it about me that makes you so edgy?”

“I don't know. I guess I just suck at this.”

“At what?”

“This…this…” she gestured absently “…flirting thing. That is what we're doing, right? I mean, I'm not imagining things, am I?”

That made him smile. “You're not imagining anything. And for the record, you're damned good at the flirting thing. When you're not acting like you're afraid of me.”

“I'm sorry.” There was no point in trying to pretend she was a sexy temptress when clearly she wasn't fooling anyone. “I just…I'm not used to being around men like you.”

“Jane, you were around me all day and you were fine.”

“Yes, but there were other people around.”

“So, being
alone
with me makes you nervous.”

She nodded.

“Because we have chemistry?”

“You're my boss.”

“I told you last night, not after we leave work.”

No, but he was still the subject of the investigation, and already she was having a tough time remaining impartial. “I could lose my job.”

“I won't let that happen.”

Maybe the makeover had been a bad idea. Of course, then he wouldn't have noticed her at all. Maybe the truth was, she wasn't cut out to be an undercover investigator. She wasn't cunning and clever. And she wasn't a manipulator. She wasn't even a very good liar. This was just too hard.

“Jane, do you like me?”

Why did he have to make this so difficult? “Yes, I like you, but—”

“And I like you too.”

She almost asked him why. Why would someone like him like someone like her? Was it because of what he saw on the outside? Because she obviously didn't have the insides to match. “You barely know me.”

“Is it too much to ask for the chance to
get
to know you?”

She chewed her lip, unsure of what to do, how to move forward. Though it defied logic, for some reason he seemed to be interested in her. There had to be a way to use that to her advantage. Could she use her ineptitude as a tool to string him along, to keep things from moving too quickly? To keep herself from getting into a situation that crossed the lines of morality?

It might actually work.

“Okay,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes as if he didn't quite believe her. “Are you
sure?
”

“Yes, but under one condition. No one can know. When we're at work, I'm your secretary, nothing more. And that goes for the parking lot as well.”

“Fine, but I have a condition too. You have to stop being afraid of me.”

It's not as if she could shut it off like a switch. “I'll try.”

“Maybe it would help if we break the ice.”

“Break it how?”

“I think I should kiss you.”

He thought
that
was going to make her less nervous? Just the idea had her heart racing. Not only because the thought of kissing him thrilled her, but she wasn't
supposed
to be kissing him. “Jordan—”

“Just one little kiss. It'll work. Trust me.” He held out his hands. “Come here.”

She looked at them nervously.

“I'm not going to bite,” he said, then added with a grin, “unless you want me to.”

At her wary look, he said, “Sorry, no more joking around.” He wiggled his fingers. “Come here.”

She really shouldn't be doing this, but honestly, what was the harm in one little kiss? Maybe it would eliminate that element of uncertainty. Besides, who would know?

She took a deep breath.
Okay, here we go. You can do this.

She stepped toward him and took his hands, aware that hers were trembling. He held them loosely, very nonthreateningly. Without her high heels she was considerably shorter than him. At least six inches. She found herself focusing on the loosened knot of his tie.

“Jane, look at me.”

She raised her eyes to his and just like last night in the parking lot, she was riveted. His irises were clear and bright; a mottled collage of brown and green flecks that were light at the outer edges, but grew darker and more intense as they reached the pupil. His eyes were just as extraordinary as the rest of him, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering again, what was he doing
here?
With
her?
Wasn't there an heiress or a supermodel he'd rather be kissing?

He tugged gently on her hands, drawing her closer. Her heart was beating so fast and hard it was becoming difficult to breathe. She hoped she didn't make an even bigger fool out of herself by dropping in a dead faint.

He lowered his head, leaning in, and she lifted her chin to meet him halfway, her eyes drifting closed. Then his lips brushed across hers.

Holy cow,
she was kissing Jordan Everette. Or, he was kissing her. And it was…
perfect.

If a soft peck felt this nice, she could just imagine how
a real kiss would feel. But she didn't want to imagine, she wanted to
know.

He was right about one thing, she was feeling a whole mess of emotions right now, but the one she didn't feel was nervous.

He pulled back and looked down at her, searching her face, his voice a little rough when he said, “I know we agreed to one kiss, but you still look a little edgy to me.”

One kiss, two. Who was counting, anyway?

He let go of her hands and reached up to cup her face in his palms, and the thrill of feeling him touch her made her knees go weak. This time when he kissed her, it wasn't a peck. This was deeper and hotter.

It wasn't as if she had never been kissed before, but she had never been kissed quite like this.

In what she considered a bold and daring move for someone like her, she reached up and laid her hands on his chest, feeling hard muscle and heat beneath his shirt. And he must have liked it because he made a gravelly sound in his throat. Then one of his hands dropped down to settle on her lower back, easing her in a little bit closer, against all that warmth and sinew. Probably too close, but at the same time not close enough.

One of his hands slipped under her sweatshirt, his palm settling against her bare skin, and in the same instant her leg buzzed where it was pressed against his thigh, as if he had a bee in his pants. She gasped with surprise at the unusual sensation and Jordan jerked his hand from beneath her shirt.