Daring Moves. Linda Lael Miller
jubilation deflated. “They live with your sister? I don’t understand.”
Jordan sighed. “Becky died two weeks after the accident, and I was in the hospital for close to three months. Karen—my sister—and her husband, Paul, took the kids. By the time I got back on my feet, the four of them had become a family. I couldn’t see breaking it up.”
An overwhelming sadness caused Amanda to grip the railing for a moment to keep from being swept away by the sheer power of the emotion.
Reading her expression, Jordan gently touched the tip of her nose. “Ready to call it a night? You look tired.”
Amanda nodded, too close to tears to speak. She had a tendency to empathize with other people’s joys and sorrows, and she was momentarily crushed by the weight of what Jordan had been through.
“I see my daughters often,” he assured her, tenderness glinting in his eyes. He kissed her lightly on the mouth, then took her elbow and escorted her back inside the cabin.
They said their goodbyes to David and Claudia Chamberlin, then walked up the wharf to Jordan’s car. He was a perfect gentleman, opening the door for Amanda, and she settled wearily into the suede passenger seat.
Back at Amanda’s building, Jordan again helped her out of the car, and he walked her to her door. Amanda waited until the last possible second to decide whether she was going to invite him in, breaking her own suspense by blurting out, “Would you like a cup of coffee or something?”
Jordan’s hazel eyes twinkled as he placed one hand on either side of the doorjamb, effectively trapping Amanda between his arms. “Not tonight,” he said softly.
Amanda’s blue eyes widened in confusion. “Don’t look now,” she replied in a burst of daring cowardice, “but you’re sending out conflicting messages.”
He chuckled, and his lips touched hers, very tenderly.
Amanda felt a jolt of spiritual electricity spark through her system, burning away every memory of James’s touch. Surprise made her draw back from Jordan so suddenly that her head bumped hard against the door.
Jordan lowered one hand to caress her crown, and she felt the French braid coming undone beneath his fingers.
“Careful,” he murmured, and then he kissed her again.
This time there was hunger in his touch, and a sweet, frightening power that made Amanda’s knees unsteady.
She laid her hands lightly on his chest, trying to ground this second mystical shock, but he interpreted the contact differently and drew back.
“Good night, Amanda,” he said quietly. He waited until she’d unlocked her door with a trembling hand, and then he walked away.
Inside the apartment Amanda flipped on the living room light, crossed to the sofa and sagged onto it. She felt as though she were leaning over the edge of a great canyon and the rocks were slipping away beneath her feet.
Gershwin hurled himself into her lap with a loud meow, and she ran one hand distractedly along his silky back. Dr. Marshall had said it was time she started taking chances, and she had an awful feeling she was on the brink of the biggest risk of her life.
The massive redwood-and-glass house overlooking Puget Sound was dark and unwelcoming that night when Jordan pulled into the driveway and reached for the small remote control device lying on his dashboard. He’d barely made the last ferry to the island, and he was tired.
As the garage door rolled upward, he thought of Amanda, and shifted uncomfortably on the seat. He would have given half his stock portfolio to have her sitting beside him now, to talk with her over coffee in the kitchen or wine in front of the fireplace…
To take her to his bed.
Jordan got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. The garage was dark, but he didn’t flip on a light until he reached the kitchen. Becky had always said he had the night vision of a vampire.
Becky. He clung to the memory of her smile, her laughter, her perfume. She’d been tiny and spirited, with dark hair and eyes, and it seemed to Jordan that she’d never been far from his side, even after her death. He’d loved her to an excruciating degree, but for the past few months she’d been steadily receding from his mind and heart. Now, with the coming of Amanda, her image seemed to be growing more indistinct with every passing moment.
Jordan glanced into the laundry room, needing something real and mundane to focus on. A pile of jeans, sweatshirts and towels lay on the floor, so he crammed as much as he could into the washing machine, then added soap and turned the dial. A comforting, ordinary sound resulted.
Returning to the kitchen, Jordan shrugged out of his leather jacket and laid it over one of the bar stools at the counter. He opened the refrigerator, studied its contents without actually focusing on a single item, then closed it again. He wasn’t hungry for anything except Amanda, and it was too soon for that.
Too soon, he reflected with a rueful grin as he walked through the dining room to the front entryway and the stairs. He hadn’t bothered with such niceties as timing with the women he’d dated over the past two years—in truth, their feelings just hadn’t mattered much to him, though he’d never been deliberately unkind.
He trailed his hand over the top of the polished oak banister as he climbed the stairs. With Amanda, things were different. Timing was crucial, and so were her feelings.
The empty house yawned around Jordan as he opened his bedroom door and went inside. In the adjoining bathroom he took off his clothes and dropped them neatly into the hamper, then stepped into the shower.
Thinking of Amanda again, he turned on the cold water and endured its biting chill until some of the intolerable heat had abated. But while he was brushing his teeth, Amanda sneaked back into his mind.
He saw her standing on the deck of the Chamberlins’ boat, looking up at him with that curious vulnerability showing in her blue-green eyes. It was as though she didn’t know how beautiful she was, or how strong, and yet she had to, because she was out there making a life for herself.
Rubbing his now-stubbled chin, Jordan wandered into the bedroom, threw back the covers and slid between the sheets. He felt the first stirrings of rage as he thought about the mysterious James and the damage he’d done to Amanda’s soul. Jordan had seen the bruises in her eyes every time she’d looked at him, and the memory made him want to find the bastard who’d hurt her and systematically tear him apart.
Jordan turned onto his stomach and tried to put the scattered images of the past two days out of his thoughts. This time, just before he dropped off to sleep, was reserved for thoughts of Becky, as always.
He waited, but his late wife’s face didn’t form in his mind. He could only see Amanda, with her wide, trusting blue eyes, her soft, spun-honey hair, her shapely and inviting body. He wanted her with a desperation that made his loins ache.
Furious, Jordan slammed one fist into the mattress and flipped onto his back, training all his considerable energy on remembering Becky’s face.
He couldn’t.
After several minutes of concentrated effort, all of it fruitless, panic seized him, and he bolted upright, switched on the lamp and reached for the picture on his nightstand.
Becky smiled back at him from the photograph as if to say, Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.
With a raspy sigh, Jordan set the picture back on the table and turned out the light. Becky’s favorite reassurance didn’t work that night. Maybe things would be okay in the long run, but there was a lot of emotional white water between him and any kind of happy ending.
It was Saturday morning, and Amanda luxuriated in the fact that she didn’t have to put on makeup, style her hair, or even get dressed if she didn’t want to. She really tried to be lazy, but she felt strangely ambitious, and there was no getting around it.
She climbed out